


An Uncomfortable Discovery

by Rhube



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: (very brief mention but it is there), Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Ear play, Enemies to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind Control, Oral Sex, Past Torture, Spitroasting, Suicidal Thoughts, Wet Dream, arseholes to lovers, attempted suicide-via-Fenris, awkward erections, erotic hand-holding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 06:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 43
Words: 75,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8478625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhube/pseuds/Rhube
Summary: Hawke brings an unconscious Fenris home from a battle. Merrill healed him, but he won't wake up. When Anders touches Fenris's tattoos a connection is made between Justice and the lyrium within the elf's skin.Appalled to find Fenris now under his command, Anders must also deal with the building fascination of the spirit within him. As they struggle to find a cure for the spell, Anders,  Fenris,  and Hawke must also deal with the desires it provokes.(Warning for non-con as this is mind-control, but the issue of consent is frequently discussed and not glossed over. Warning added for graphic violence, but this is limited and warned for where relevant.)





	1. An uncomfortable discovery

**Author's Note:**

> This became so much bigger than I ever imagined? So much plot in my porn! There will be quite a bit of sex, but also lashings of angst.

A crash below startled Anders, his pen skirting across paper, leaving an ugly line through his notes.

“Anders!” Hawke’s cry from below, the note of panic bringing the mage to his feet.

“Here,” he replied, dashing out to the balcony that overlooked the lower level of Hawke’s home.

Something was very wrong. Hawke was carrying Fenris in his arms, the elf limp. Despite the weight, Hawke didn’t pause when he met Anders’ eyes, but took the steps two at a time, headed for their bedroom.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” Hawke was saying as Anders followed him. “Merrill healed him, but he won’t wake up. I didn’t see what happened. We were all... we were fighting. You know how it is…” He lay Fenris down on the bed and began fussing with the straps of his armour, not looking up to Anders. “Everything’s chaotic and… you can lose sight of someone until the dust settles and… But he didn’t get up this time. I don’t know what happened.”

“OK,” Anders said, stepping forward, putting his hand over Hawke’s to still it, feeling the shaking underneath. “Let me have a look at him.”

Hawke sighed and moved out of the way, but Anders could feel the tension coming off him in waves.

“It’s not your fault,” Anders said, taking the leather straps that bound Fenris’s spiked armour to him at a more measured pace.

"You don’t know that,” Hawke said.

Anders bit his tongue. He knew Hawke had been with Fenris before turning to him. That it had ended badly. That Hawke still blamed himself for not being more patient with Fenris, even though it had been the elf’s choice to leave. He swallowed down the jealousy that always threatened to rise whenever the three of them were together.

It wasn’t _just_ , he reminded himself; Hawke was with him now, after all.

Not that Justice approved of any of this, of course.

He shook his head and focused on his patient. Fenris was completely inert. It was disconcerting to see him lie so completely still. His intense gaze hidden behind closed lids and soft lashes. The frown that seemed to be the only expression he ever had for Anders smoothed away to an illusion of peaceful innocence absent from his waking face.

The worst of the armour freed from his body, Anders could see no obvious signs of injury. No urgent welt of pain called on his healing magic for attention.

Tilting his head, Anders passed his hands in the air above Fenris, sending gentle waves of healing to feel out anything less obvious. What he received in return was… strange.

Almost like something was reaching back.

Fenris twitched beneath him, and Anders immediately snatched his hands away.

“What was that?” Hawke asked, anxiously. “Is he waking up? Is he going to be OK?”

“I don’t know,” Anders said. “Something isn’t right.”

Drawing in his magic tight, Anders reached out for a physical examination. Feeling first down Fenris’s torso, he found nothing unusual. The muscles were firm beneath the fabric of his tunic and showed no sign of injury. But Anders would expect none, if Merrill had performed even basic healing magic on him in the field.

His hands moved up to examine Fenris’s head and neck.

The response was immediate.

The tips of Anders’ fingers had barely brushed the tracery of lyrium along his collar bone when Fenris’s body thrummed into an unnatural light and life. His eyes shot open and he rose into Anders’ touch as though to press them closer together, his tattoos glowing against the brown of his skin.

And Anders found himself responding. Justice surged to the surface, drawn to the thrumming lyrium, taking all of Anders’ attention to calm and force back down as he tried to focus on his patient.

 _He sings_ , Justice whispered urgently. So rarely did the spirit’s thoughts stand out separately from his own anymore. It was disconcerting.

 _I know_ , Anders replied, _but he isn’t meant to. Not like this. Please, I must…_

And then Fenris drew both their attentions.

“Command me,” Fenris said, the deep, rolling timbre of his voice familiar, but the words alien.

 _Yes, tell him_ closer, Justice’s thought urged, but Anders resisted.

_No, and you don’t want that either. You know you don’t. It isn’t right._

It took a moment, a long, slow breath that centred them both, but Justice acquiesced. _Of course, you are right. I am sorry, my friend._

Anders nodded, trying to hide how badly the brief exchange had shaken him, sensing Hawke staring at him and Fenris both.

“No,” he heard himself say at last, as though breaking through the surface of a cold mountain lake. “No, Fenris, that’s not what you want.”

The lyrium in Fenris’s skin still thrummed beneath his touch. He realised with alarm that his body was responding to that thrumming power, to the way it called to Justice, even now the spirit had retreated. He shifted his leg and hoped Hawke would not notice the hard length of his cock straining at the fabric of his trousers.

“Tell me what to want,” Fenris said, in the same, rich, deep voice, his eyes still blank and unseeing.

Anders closed his eyes. “Hawke, help me,” he said, utterly unprepared for the way Fenris was reacting, struggling to concentrate under the pressures within and without, trying to figure out how to force a man to stop offering up his will for command.

And then the connection was broken. Hawke’s hand was pressed flat against his own chest, forcing him down against the bed and breaking the contact with Fenris.

Fenris slumped back, and Anders could hear him panting. He hoped that was a good sign. Panting was at least a change from that measured speech and dead-eyed stare.

Hawke was looking Anders in the eyes now, and he read there challenge as well as concern. _He did see_ , Anders was suddenly certain. _He saw that I was turned on by that. Crap._ He hadn’t meant it, it had just happened. Justice leaning in to the song of the lyrium as much as anything else. But he knew it looked bad.

“Are you in control?” Hawke asked, urgently, his hand still pressed into Anders’ chest.

“Yes,” Anders said, his voice breathy to his ears. “I think so, yes. Thank you.”

“Good.” And the pressure was gone. Hawke had turned to Fenris now.

Gingerly, Anders sat up, pushing himself away from Fenris. Studiously avoiding contact with any unclothed portion of skin.

Fenris was awake. Really awake this time, and staring at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are ignoring that Merrill can't actually do Healing magic. I don't know how I missed this? In the world of this story she can do a basic, tier 1 heal.


	2. Anders reflects on his experience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders does some soul... and spirit searching. Hawke challenges him, and offers some comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still nothing naughty, but some nice tasty angst while the tension builds. I promise, we will get there...

“What did you do?” Fenris said, green eyes locked with Anders’ own. “What did you _do_ to me, mage?”

“Nothing,” Anders protested, raising his hands. “Nothing, I–I don’t know what that was. Hawke–?” he looked away from Fenris’s intense glare, seeking help.

Hawke met his gaze and nodded, before turning back to Fenris. “We don’t know what happened, Fenris. You were unconscious. Something… when we were fighting–”

“I want him out,” Fenris interrupted, still staring at Anders, as though he were a wild beast that might attack at any moment.

Hawke sighed. “I think that might be for the best. Anders…?”

“Yes, sure, of course.” He pushed himself up from the bed. Realised he was trembling – as shaken by the experience as Fenris.

 _Well, no, probably not_ as _shaken_ , he mentally corrected. _What a thing to wake up to_.

Anders closed his eyes and shuddered.

“Now, mage.” The fury and urgency in Fenris’s voice brooked no quarter.

Anders nodded. “Yes – sorry – yes.” He left the room without looking back.

***

Anders wasn’t quite prepared for the small gaggle of people waiting outside. It was easy to forget quite how many folk Hawke had invited into his home.

“Is the young man alright, Messere?” Bodahn asked, wringing his hands anxiously.

“I, uh…” Anders stammered. _I have no idea_ , he did not say. “He’s awake. Hawke is looking after him now.”

“Oh, that’s a relief,” Bodahn began, “Gave us all quite a fright, and Sandal, here–”

“Yes, umm,” Anders could see Bodahn was gearing up to ramble on in his usual wittering style, expending nervous energy through talk, but he couldn’t face it. He needed space and a moment to think. “I’m sorry. I need to look something up in Hawke’s library. I need to… investigate something,” he finished awkwardly, turning away and heading for the stairs before Bodahn could ask him anything more.

Alone amongst the books, he leant back upon a shelf.

“What was that, Justice?” he asked aloud.

The spirit remained silent. Their joining rarely involved true conversation; increasingly they moved, thought, felt as one being. The knot of roiling anxiety and desire deep in his belly was answer enough. Justice didn’t know what had happened either. But he knew the spirit wanted to touch Fenris again. Wanted to command him as the elf had asked. And that he also wanted to do nothing of the kind.

Because there was nothing just in that.

It wasn’t even really a route to vengeance. Fenris had done nothing to them except for the odd barbed remark. However he felt about magic, however many times he called Justice a demon and Anders and abomination, he had kept their secret, said nothing to the Templars.

They had no wish to control him.

They certainly didn’t want to force him back into the kind of slavery from which he escaped.

To be made to do anything against one’s will was so wrong.

And yet, and yet...

 _To be so close to the lyrium…_ Justice’s whispered desire ran through their anxiety and guilt. _He is practically a creature of the fade. He walks in the fade._

_When he ghosts._

_Yes._

_It’s not the same._

_It’s close._

“Gah! What does that even _mean_?” Anders exclaimed aloud. But Justice, or the part of him that was Justice, didn’t really know what that meant either. Knew only that he was drawn to Fenris. Wanted to possess what was in him.

“One person is not enough?” Anders quietly asked the air, and felt Justice’s hurt.

Justice had never desired to control him like that. Only to join their purposes together, to fight the greater injustice Anders had always shied away from in seeking freedom for himself.

The door opened beside him and Anders jumped.

“Hawke!” he exclaimed.

The other man nodded and swiftly closed the door behind himself. “He wants to talk to you,” he said, but stayed in front of the door, arms crossed.

“Is he alright?” Anders asked.

“You tell me,” the accusation in Hawke’s tone was wounding.

“Hawke, I… I have no idea what happened in there. You don’t think I would deliberately…”

Hawke sighed. “No, not deliberately. And I know you refused to command him and you asked for my help. But I also know a part of you enjoyed that.” Hawke looked pointedly to Anders’ crotch, causing a bright flush of heat to his face. “And I also know that there’s a part of you I’ll never know as well as I think I do.”

That stung. And yet Anders couldn’t deny the truth of it. There would always be things he would have to hold back from Hawke, things that if Hawke knew, he… But no sense thinking of that now.

“I know…” he cleared his throat. “I know how it looked, but I just… Justice was… excited by the lyrium. That’s all. It… sings like the Fade, to him. And, I don’t know. Maybe it was just being so close when it flared up like that…” He shook his head. “But I don’t think it was just that. Whatever happened to Fenris today, it was like something was reaching out to make a connection with… with someone like me. With a mage, maybe?”

“It didn’t happen with Merrill,” Hawke said.

“No,” Anders agreed. “But we all know I’m not entirely like Merrill.”

They stood in silence, thinking about that.

“You think it responded to Justice. To the presence of a spirit,” Hawke said at last.

Anders looked away. “I don’t know. It might be something else. Or it might be a spell that was supposed to respond to something else was triggered by something _similar enough_ in Justice. I guess… I guess I can’t really know without examining him further.”

Hawke pursed his lips. “I don’t like the idea of you being alone with him right now. I’m sorry Anders. I trust you, I do.” Anders looked back at that, surprised at the truth in Hawke’s voice – that he could remain so trusting, could have so much belief in his friends. In Anders. “But I don’t trust this magic.”

Anders nodded. “So come with me. Pull me back if things get out of hand, like you did before.”

Hawke shook his head. “No, Fenris said he wants to talk to you alone. I want to respect that. Just… be careful.” And now Hawke reached out and touched his arm. Stroked it. Let him know that Hawke was worried for him as much as Fenris.

Anders swallowed. “Alright. But you’ll be outside, though, won’t you? Just in case.”

Hawke nodded. “Of course.” Then he surprised Anders by leaning in for a kiss. His touch soft, gentle, thrilling. A reminder of all Anders had that was important outside the needs of his spirit companion.

That the touch of a human, the right human, could sing just as sweetly as lyrium.

“Well, then,” he said, breathlessly when the kiss broke. “I’d better go talk to Fenris.”


	3. Fenris has a request

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris tells Anders more about the effect the spell has had on him, and makes a disquieting request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, still no sex, but two updates in one day because I couldn't stay away, so...

Anders closed the bedroom door softly behind him and leant back upon it.

Fenris was sitting up in bed, still clothed only in his tunic and leggings. His face unreadable.

“Mage.”

“Fenris,” Anders began. “I’m sorry about before. I didn’t know that would happen. I was just–”

Fenris cut him off. “I know.”

Anders blinked. “What?”

The elf rolled his eyes and repeated, with a disdain so familiar it was almost reassuring: “ _I. Know_. I remember what happened,” he went on more softly. “I was… aware, when I awoke, though I was not in control of myself. I remember that you refused me.” He looked away, and Anders could see the taut lines of his jaw working, before he admitted: “It was unfair of me to accuse you.”

“Understandable, though,” Anders said. "You must have been in shock.”

Fenris gave a curt nod.

“And…” Anders ventured, “how do you feel now? Has the, uh, whatever that was… lifted?” he asked, hopefully.

“No.”

Anders frowned. “But you… you seem more like yourself?”

Fenris met his gaze, eyes narrowed, that comforting sharpness and sarcasm returned. “I am. And yet I am… not.”

“I-I don’t…?”

Fenris cleared his throat. “I need you to give me an instruction, mage.”

Anders blinked. “What?”

Fenris looked away again, discomfort and anger written on his face, and yet contained. He spoke quickly, then: “I sent you away because I did not want you here. I do not want to be commanded by you. By a mage. By an _abomination_ ,” he spat the word. “But the moment you were gone I was… uncomfortable. And the longer you were away, the worse it became. I _itched_ to hear your voice. I could not concentrate on what Hawke was saying.”

Anders paled. “You needed to be with me?”

“No, fool!” Fenris shouted. “I needed you to tell me what to do!”

They stared at each other. Fenris challenging Anders to say something. Anders terrified to say anything at all.

“ _Fasta vass!_ ” Fenris spat at last. “Come here.”

Anders shook his head. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Fenris banged his head against the headboard. “Do you enjoy making me beg?”

“What? No! Fenris… I don’t think it’s safe to come closer. Something about you… fascinates Justice. He’s behaving strangely. I don’t know what might happen,” Anders admitted.

“I don’t care what it does to your _demon_ , mage-”

“Maker!” Anders exclaimed, unnerved by the mixture of rage and naked need in Fenris’s eyes. “Fenris, this isn’t you. You don’t want me to tell you what to do, it’s… it’s sick. Whatever this spell is, we’ll find a way to break it, and–”

“And _what_ , mage? In the meantime you leave me to hang? You – you–” Fenris stuttered, “you don’t need to command me to service you. Just tell me what to _do_. Something. _Anything_. Make it so I can do what you want. _Please_.”

Anders’ heart sank. Without ever wanting to, he had made the proud man beg. He closed his eyes.

“Alright,” he said. “Fine. Do this, if you must: get dressed and go home. Go home and rest while Hawke and I… figure something out.”

He heard Fenris sigh with relief. When he opened his eyes, the elf had already begun to put on his armour.

Anders could only stare. _Maker, what is this magic?_

He watched as Fenris dressed, wanting to look away. But now the argument was over, he found it harder to resist Justice’s fascination. The lyrium in Fenris’s skin was quiet and dull, for now, but he knew, somehow, that just a touch from him would waken it again.

Fenris looked up and caught him staring.

He closed his eyes again.

Heard the elf walk over to him.

Could _feel_ the lyrium in his skin _thrumming_.

“You’ve done what I asked you to,” Fenris said. “There’s no shame in that.”

He had to look at him, drawn by proximity and the rolling sound of his voice.

Ripples of light stuttered and fluctuated in Fenris’s lyrium tattoos.

“You _must_ feel that, too,” Anders said, his voice breathless, but underlaid by the deeper tones of Justice.

Fenris only stared at him flatly. “Move,” he said. “I need to go home to rest.”

Anders gulped a shaky breath and nodded. “Of course.” He moved away from the door and was relieved when Fenris left, closing it between them.

Quietly, he sank to the floor.

Which was how Hawke found him.

The door had opened and closed again, and then Hawke was sitting beside him. Put a hand on his arm.

“What happened, Anders?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Nothing good, I fear.”

“Hmm.” They sat together, for a time. Hawke waiting for him to be ready to speak again.

Finally, he asked, “How was Fenris, when he left?”

“Odd,” Hawke replied. “Quiet. He didn’t want to talk. Said he just wanted to go home to rest.”

Anders gave a bark of bitter laughter. “Did he?”

Hawke sighed. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

Anders shook his head. “I don’t know if I should. I’m not sure Fenris would want you to know. He asked to speak to me alone, remember?”

“OK,” Hawke thought for a moment. “But it’s clear there’s still something going on. The spell didn’t dissipate, did it?”

“No,” Anders admitted. “Not entirely.”

“And Justice…?” Hawke prompted.

“Is _interested_ ,” Anders said, “by… developments. Fortunately, I don’t think Fenris is particularly interested in Justice. I think that’s just a side-effect. An uncomfortable one for me, but I’ll manage.”

Hawke reached up and ran a finger down the side of Anders’ face, drawing Anders to meet his eyes at last. “You don’t have to have to manage alone, though. You know that.”

Anders smiled, tiredly. “I do. It never ceases to surprise me, but I do.” He sighed. “You’d better check on Fenris in a couple of hours, though. He might… need me to do something else for him in a bit.” Anders wondered uneasily just how long Fenris might stay ‘resting’ at home without further instructions. “Or the spell might wear off,” he said with forced hope. “You never know.”


	4. Hawke finds out more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke visits Fenris in his mansion and learns from him what has happened. Appalled with how this leaves Fenris and Anders, he starts trying to think of a solution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're inching our way towards sexy times. I totally did not mean to have so much plot in my porn, but it's hotter for me if people act in character, and apparently the boys need a slow build. We'll get there. I'm pretty sure the next chapter should be steamy.

When Hawke arrived at Fenris’s mansion that evening, he was unsurprised to find the door unlocked. For a man on the run, he didn’t seem to have much of a care for security – _or hygiene, for that matter_ , Hawke thought, trying to ignore the detritus and blood stains that littered Fenris’s entrance hall.

But then, Fenris had a reasonable right to feel confident in his ability to defend himself. And he’d as much as said to Hawke that he was not so much hiding anymore as using himself as bait.

“Fenris,” he called out, not wanting to surprise the elf. “It’s Hawke.”

There was no response, but he could see a light on in the upstairs room where Fenris made his bed. If Fenris had wanted him to go away, he would have said so, so Hawke ascended the stairs and came to stand by the door.

“Hi,” he said, looking in.

“Hello,” Fenris replied, sullenly. He was sat up in bed. A book next to him suggested at some point he had been reading, but now his arms were crossed and he stared at Hawke. He had the feeling Fenris had been waiting for him. _Or for Anders_ , Hawke admitted. Anders had said Fenris might need to see him again today.

“He’s not with you,” Fenris said. A statement, not a question. Fenris would have heard if there had been two men approaching.

“No,” Hawke replied. “But he wanted me to check on you and let him know if… if you needed to see him.”

“I see,” Fenris said.

Hawke walked slowly up to the bed, giving Fenris time to tell him to back off if needed, but he didn’t. The elf just watched. He sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Hawke asked, gently.

Fenris sniffed. “The mage didn’t say?”

“Only that the spell hadn’t dissipated, and that part of the spell must be embedded in the lyrium of your tattoos, which is affecting Justice.”

“But not how the spell is affecting _me_ ,” Fenris confirmed, his eyes refusing to meet Hawke’s.

“Well,” said Hawke. “I think he thinks it’s for you to share, if you want to.”

Hawke waited to see if Fenris would speak, watching as the elf’s jaw worked, but whatever it was, Fenris didn’t seem to be able to voice it.

“Why don’t you start by telling me what happened earlier today, when we were fighting those slavers,” Hawke said. “How were you injured?”

Fenris sighed. For a moment, Hawke thought he didn’t want to talk about that either, but finally Fenris began to speak. “It was that big one with the maul. Perhaps you didn’t see him; you were busy with the mage on the platform when he came out of a tunnel. I held my own against him, but he had this smug expression. I think he knew he only needed one good hit, and he got it.” Fenris thumped his chest. “Right there,” he said. “It was like every mark on my skin lit up. Agony, for one brief moment. And then nothing.”

Fenris looked down at his hands. “Nothing until I awoke in your bed, with your apostate’s hands on me, the markings pulsing under his touch. Feeling like…” the elf drew his legs up under the sheets and wrapped his arms around them. He suddenly seemed very small and defenceless. Hawke had only seen him so vulnerable once before. “Feeling like,” he went on, finally, “like I _belonged_ to him. Like my will was flowing into him through that touch.”

“Fenris,” Hawke said, reaching out a hand to comfort him.

“Don’t.” Fenris flinched away.

Hawke pulled back. “Sorry.”

Fenris closed his eyes, seemed to collect himself, then went on.

“It was better when the connection broke. But it still felt like… like my will was not my own. Like a part of me had gone with him when he left, and I couldn’t do anything unless he told me to.” Fenris was picking fretfully at a loose thread on the sheet. “That’s why I had to see him again. I needed him to tell me what to do,” he admitted.

Hawke felt cold and still, listening to Fenris’s confession, thinking of what it might mean for Anders. “And he did,” Hawke said quietly.

Fenris sighed. “Eventually. I had to beg him."

The wash of relief Hawke felt on hearing that made him realise quite how much it worried him that Anders had been put in this position, what it might do to him – and to Justice – to have that kind of power.

“He told me to go home and rest,” Fenris finished, and threw his arms down on the bed. “So. That’s what I’ve been doing since I left you. Resting.”

“And reading,” Hawke said, gesturing to the book.

Fenris grimaced. “Not for very long. It became… difficult, and then it didn’t seem like a very restful thing to do anymore. After that I mostly just… sat here.”

Hawke looked at the book, Fenris’s words sinking in. The moment the reading had ceased to be restful, Fenris had had to stop. And then he had had nothing else to do. Hemmed in by Anders’ well-meaning attempt to give him a command that was safe. That kept them away from each other.

The sense of helplessness that came from that thought was disquieting. Inactivity was not something that came naturally to Hawke. There had to be a way to solve this, to set them free from each other. “Well,” Hawke said. “Perhaps I’ll go take a look at that maul you were hit with. It’s not much, but it’s a place to start. It must be amongst the weapons we looted. Sounds like it might have been enchanted. I could get Sandal to take a look at the runes, maybe?”

Fenris looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time since he’d entered the room. “You think so?”

Hawke forced himself to smile. “Of course. If it’s an enchantment, then once we know what it is we’ll be half way there to breaking it. I’ll look into it. Now,” he said. “In the meantime, is there anything I can do for you? To make things a bit easier?”

Fenris grimaced. “You could ask Anders to come here.”

Hawke’s stomach twisted uneasily. “Are you sure?”

Fenris nodded, resigned. “I need him to tell me to do… something else. Perhaps we can work something out. Or at least,” he rolled his eyes, “at the least I could ask him to tell me to do the things I _want_ to do.”

“Maker,” Hawke swore. “This is ridiculous.”

Fenris shrugged. “That it is. But until you can find a more permanent solution, that might be how it needs to be.”


	5. Anders goes to see Fenris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders visits Fenris at his mansion and offers to do whatever the elf wants. But what he wants is something Anders doubts will be good for any of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cackles darkly* Sexy times are here. Note that the non-con/dub-con warnings apply for this chapter. Also, I have increased the rating to Explicit.

Anders found Fenris still in bed, sitting up, staring resentfully at the door.

“Hello,” Anders said.

Fenris said nothing.

“Hawke told me how... how my command affected you. You, uh, you don’t have to keep resting if you don’t want to. I, uh, release you.”

Fernis’s glare could have cut granite. “ _Thank you_ , mage,” Fenris said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m _so_ grateful to you for _allowing_ me to do something else.”

The impulse to protest died on Anders’ lips. None of this was his fault, but he was not the wounded party. He could take anything Fenris had to say.

“Tell me what you want to do,” he said, quietly.

Fenris’s response surprised him. “I want you to come over here.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Anders said.

“I didn’t _ask_ you what you thought, mage,” Fenris said. “I told you to come over here.”

“Justice-” Anders began.

“Yes,” Fenders interrupted. “It bothers your demon, doesn’t it? To be near me. Well, I rather like the thought of your demon being bothered by this.”

“Fenris, it’s not so much that he’s bothered as-”

“Come here!” Fenris barked. “Or did you not mean it when you said you’d do what I wanted? Perhaps you are happy to simply tell me what to do and walk away.”

Anders swallowed. “Alright.”

He moved forward into the room. Sure enough, as he approached the bed, Fenris’s lyrium tattoos flickered into life, and Justice’s interest stirred. He halted, leaning on the bedpost at the foot of Fenris’s bed.

“Closer,” Fenris commanded.

“No.”

Fenris’s intense green stare held his gaze. “Let me make you do something you don’t want to do.”

 _Yes_ , the spirit within him whispered. _That is just_.

Anders groaned. Wanted to protest that that didn’t make sense. That it was _precisely_ what Justice wanted, even if it wasn’t what he, Anders, did. That Fenris was being a fool and putting them all in danger.

But Fenris’s words had plunged straight into the well of guilt that filled him. Fenris had been under his command all day – it made him feel sick to think of it. This was what the elf wanted.

Anders stepped closer. The lyrium in Fenris’s skin glowed brighter, and Justice surged to the surface. He closed his eyes against the blue glow that had risen in them, the cracks in his own skin where Justice strained to get through.

“Closer, mage.” There was a bitter satisfaction in Fenris’s words.

“A moment,” Anders gasped, hearing the alteration in his own words, knowing that he was only barely himself now.

 _Justice, we must regain control_ , he silently pleaded. _We don’t know what this spell is doing to you_.

 _It’s calling to me_ , was all he could get from Justice. The spirit barely cared. It was though the Fade had been dangled in front of him, and all he had to do was take a few more steps and cross over. Be home.

 _But that’s not what’s happening, Justice_ , Anders told himself, themselves, resolutely. _You’re not going to go home if you give yourself over to this. We don’t know what will happen, but it won’t be that._

Something in Justice seemed to hear him, loosened his grip on their body, and, after a moment, acquiesced. Justice did not fully retreat. He remained just below the surface, sending waves of power through Anders’ veins, but Anders was in control again. If barely.

He opened his eyes to Fenris watching him carefully. Swallowed, and stepped closer. Finally, sat down on the bed. His hand on the cover, inches away from where Fenris’s leg rested underneath. The power coursing through both of them seemed to beat to the same rhythm.

Fenris’s eyes flicked down. “You protest,” he said, “but I can see you are enjoying this.”

Anders flushed. With his whole body awash with sensation and tension, he had barely noticed his erection, but he became almost painfully aware of it under Fenris’s gaze.

“It’s more complicated than that,” he said, breathlessly, relieved to hear that his voice was, for the time being, his own.

“Alright, then,” Fenris said. “Tell me.”

“Justice is drawn to you,” Anders replied. “You’ve always… felt like the Fade, to him. When the markings activate. But now… it’s overwhelming. It feels like something in you is reaching out to him.”

“You want to touch me,” Fenris said, his expression unreadable.

“Yes,” Anders admitted, unable to disguise the naked need.

“But you’re resisting that. Even when I tell you to come to me.”

Anders took a deep, steadying breath. “It’s a lie, what we’re feeling. You feel like the Fade, but that’s not what you are. Touching you wouldn’t magically send Justice home.”

Fenris looked surprised. “That’s what you want? For Justice to go home?”

“Of course,” Anders replied. “He was never meant to be here. He was forced from the Fade against his will. Our joining has been… one of necessity, for him. But that doesn’t mean he could simply leave me if the opportunity arose. We are one being now. We have to fulfil our purpose. Our promises to each other.”

“Your _mage rights_ ,” Fenris scoffed.

“If you like,” Anders answered, too tired to rise to the bait. “But it’s not just that whatever is in you is offering Justice false hope. It wasn’t good when last we touched. Don’t you remember? You asked me to command you, to tell you what to _want_. You were barely even there!”

“You think I have forgotten?” Fenris snapped.

“Then why do you keep asking me to come closer? You should want me to be on the other side of the world!”

“Because you lost control, too!” Fenris shot back. “You think this is any better for me now? I still _yearn_ for your command. You can tell me to rest and I will sit and do nothing for an entire day. _Nothing_. I may have been out of sight for you, but you were always in my thoughts, controlling what I could do when you weren’t even here. So, _yes_ ,” he finished, his eyes boring into the mage, “I want you to come over here and look at me with naked need and beg me to release you.”

“I’m sorry,” Anders said, weakly.

“Not good enough!” Fenris spat. “Command me to touch you,” he demanded.

“No.”

“Do it!”

“No!”

Before Anders realised what was happening, Fenris had surged forward, his hand on the mage’s neck, and they both were ablaze. The lines that ran across Fenris’s palm seemed to burn into Anders’ skin.

He thought the elf meant to strangle him, but after a long, aching moment - Fenris staring into his eyes, full of rage and pain – the elf’s other hand buried itself in Anders’ hair and pulled him into a kiss.

He lost control, then, Justice engulfing him mind and body, reaching back towards Fenris. Hands running up the elf’s taught torso. Pulling up his tunic and plunging underneath, finding the lines of lyrium, hypersensitised to the softness of his skin sitting tightly over the hard curves of his muscles.

Their kiss broke, and Anders moaned. “Sweet Maker.”

“You like that, do you?” Fenris asked.

“ _Yes_ ,” came the reply, Justice’s yearning dripping from the word.

“Then tell me to do it again. I need you to command me,” Fenris said, his voice breaking at the end.

“ _Do it_ ,” said Justice.

And he did. Their mouths locking, the lyrium that came up to Fenris’s lips pulsing and tingling at their contact, so that Justice pushed against him all the harder.

Anders’ hands resumed their exploration of Fenris’s body, following his tattoos down and down, until they met the waistband of his leggings. Fenris moaned against him and brushed his fumbling hands away before tugging efficiently on the laces and pushing himself free.

Justice reached down and grasped Fenris’s cock, both of them shuddering at the contact. The lyrium tattoos extended all the way, but Anders had not the presence of mind to think what that meant. The burning markings sang against his palm and Justice rubbed against them eagerly, his own cock painfully hard, but almost forgotten in the spirit’s need to be intimately close to Fenris.

He sank down, off the bed, so his head was aligned more comfortably with the elf’s member. _Maker_ , he wanted to worship it. It seemed to throb and twitch with the pulse of the lyrium. He needed it inside him. Needed to taste it.

He hesitated, just a moment. Some distant part of him holding him back.

Anders looked up at Fenris. “Do you want this?” he asked, the tones of both man and spirit present in his voice.

Fenris’s eyes locked with his for a moment. There was something pained in his expression, but also something savage and satisfied. “Yes,” he said. “Service me, abomination.”

It was enough.

Justice was full of need and desperation and might have tried to swallow Fenris’s member then and there, but Anders’ experience tempered him, promised more, and better, from a slower approach. He ran his tongue first along the tattooed lines of lyrium, gratified to hear Fenris gasp. Then he swirled his tongue on the sensitive head and he cupped Fenris’s balls, feeling their weight.

A hand buried itself in his long hair. Urged him to go deeper. And he did. By stages, he took more and more of Fenris into his mouth, and ultimately deep into his throat. The hand on the back of his head clench then, and another hand joined it. Fenris assumed control. Fucking Anders’ head. Using him. Enjoying him.

Until finally he clenched at the moment of ecstasy, and Anders was rewarded with spurt after spurt of lyrium-infused come.

The response in Justice was electric. Tasting, feeling the lyrium in his own body. Somehow so much more than a simple potion to restore mana. This lyrium tasted alive. Potent.

His own orgasm followed swiftly, just from that.

Until finally, spent, Anders sat, resting his head on Fenris’s leg.

A hand reached down and loosely entwined itself in Anders’ hair.

“That was… something,” Fenris said, at last.

Anders nodded, not yet able to find the words to talk. Justice seemed to have retreated, sated by the experience, but it still felt like every inch of him was buzzing.  
Fenris shifted on the bed above him.

“Anders,” the elf said, quietly. “Are you… OK?”

Anders closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Fenris slipped off the bed, sat next to him on the floor, leggings still around his ankles. A hand gently cupped Anders’ chin and turned it to face him. For the first time, he saw concern reflected in the elf’s eyes. “That was… more than I had intended. I’m sorry.”

Anders looked away, jerking free of the other man’s hand. “Not your fault,” he said, looking at the floor.

Fenris hesitated, then went on. “But it wasn’t something you wanted.”

Some emotion Anders could not identify twisted his mouth. “It’s what part of me wanted,” he said.

“I see.” Fenris lapsed into silence.

Finally, Anders drew a shaky breath and rubbed his face. “No, I’m sorry, Fenris.” He put a hand on his shoulder, looking at him now. “It wasn’t like that. I was… a willing participant. As much as any of us were, I think. It was just a bit… overwhelming.”

Fenris nodded, but looked unconvinced. “I wanted to tease you, not to go that far. Just… to take a little something back.”

Anders sighed. “I think we all got a bit carried away,” he said, then added. “Maker, I’m exhausted.” 

“You can stay here, if you like,” Fenris offered.

Anders shook his head and started to stand. “No, I think I’d better…” he stopped, swaying, and then sat down upon the bed. “On second thought, that’s a lovely offer, Fenris. I think I’ll stay right here.”

Fenris got up to join him. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“It’s OK,” Anders said, tiredly, putting a reassuring arm around Fenris’s shoulders. “Let’s just… go to sleep and not talk about it in the morning.” A ghost of a smile played against his lips, and the elf surprised him by relaxing into his embrace.

It had been a very strange day.


	6. Enter Hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke goes to Fenris's mansion in search of Anders, worried that he never came home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawke has so many feels.

Fenris startled awake to the sound of footsteps downstairs. Disoriented, his first thought was to reach for his sword, but instead of the weapon resting next to him, there was Anders.

Anders who was lying on one of his arms, the other draped across his chest.

The mage was deep in sleep. Oblivious to the movements below, barely registering the reflexive jerk of Fenris’s arms as he tried to reach for a sword that wasn’t there.

“Fenris?” came a voice from below.

A wave of relief passed over him. Not slavers. Hawke. And then:

_Oh no, Hawke!_

Gently freeing his arm from underneath the sleeping man, Fenris rolled out of bed and slipped on his tunic with the silence of one who walked like a ghost.

“Anders?” Hawke called, closer now. Fenris heard his steps on the stairs.

_Shit, shit, shit._

He crossed the room, managing to reach the landing before Hawke came to the door, but not succeeding in closing it behind him.

“Fenris,” Hawke said, frowning. “What’s going on? Where is Anders? He should have been home hours ago.”

With a sinking heart, Fenris knew he could not lie.

He raised a finger to his lips and spoke in hushed tones: “He’s sleeping. I don’t want to wake him.”

“Sleeping?” said Hawke, his tone lowered, but clearly suspicious. “In your bedroom?”

“Yes, Hawke, listen-”

Hawke pushed him aside, and Fenris didn’t have the will to resist him.

His shoulders slumped as he watched Hawke take in the scene. Fenris’s leggings on the floor beside Anders’ feathered coat. The sleeping man sprawled in a rumpled bed. It was a blessing, perhaps, that Anders was mostly clothed, but as Hawke approached, in the guttering candlelight they had been too tired to extinguish, there was no mistaking the thick stains of spent seed upon the floor.

Hawke looked from the scene back to Fenris, his eyes red and glassy. “Did – did he make you do it, Fenris?”

 _Maker, how to explain this?_ “Not exactly,” Fenris said.

“Not exactly? What do you mean, not exactly?” Hawke demanded, his voice rising.

Anders stirred at last on the bed behind them. “What-?” he asked, drawing Hawke’s attention. Then realisation dawned, Anders’ eyes opened wide. “Hawke,” he said, raising a hand.

“What did you _do_ , Anders?” Hawke demanded, storming towards the bed.

“I-I-” Anders stammered.

Fenris raced across the room, grabbing Hawke by the shoulders and turning him around. “It wasn’t Anders’ fault, Hawke. It was me - it was me!”

Fury and confusion was revealed by the dancing candle-light on Hawke’s face. “What do you mean it was you? He can tell you to do anything he wants and you’re telling me it’s _your_ fault you had sex?”

“Please, Hawke,” Fenris replied. “It’s not that simple.” _Maker’s blood, he will never forgive me._ “I knew that Anders would lose control if I touched him. I didn’t imagine things would go so far, but Anders didn’t even want me close. It was _my_ fault. I wanted revenge.”

Hawke stared at him, disgust and disbelief now playing on his face. He shook off Fenris’s hand and looked to Anders for confirmation.

Anders opened and closed his mouth a few times before finding his voice. “It was an accident, Hawke,” he said, at last. “When he touched me, Justice just… took over.”

“And that made you have sex with Fenris, did it?” Hawke asked. “Because whenever we’ve had sex, that seemed like something Justice wanted nothing to do with.”

“Justice isn’t himself,” Anders said quietly. “He’s obsessed with the way Fenris responds to us, now. With the lyrium in his tattoos.”

Hawke’s lips formed a thin line and he looked back at Fenris. “And you knew this. Anders told you he didn’t want you close because of this.”

“Yes,” said Fenris.

“But you went ahead and touched him anyway. Deliberately. Because you wanted revenge.”

Shame rose inside him like bile. He looked away from Hawke’s gaze. “Yes,” he said.

Pain exploded in the side of his face. He hadn’t seen the punch coming, and it sent him sprawling across the floor.

Reflexively, his markings lit up with lyrium, and he heard Anders groan. He was on his feet in time for the second punch, but didn’t manage to dodge it.

“Hawke, stop,” came Anders’ voice from across the room.

Fenris rolled away as Hawke came at him again and managed to dampen the lyrium. He had no wish to fight Hawke, and even less of a wish to trigger Justice’s obsession with him again.

“Hawke, please, it wasn’t like that,” Anders was saying. “Neither of us knew that was going to happen.”

“Anders, he said he wanted revenge,” Hawke snarled.

“Yes,” Anders stepped between them, his hand on Hawke’s chest. “Revenge, not sex. He wanted to make me feel under his control. And he told me as much. I didn’t touch him, but I got close enough to make the lyrium flare up. Because I thought he deserved that. To have some control over me. After everything he’s been through today.”

Hawke’s eyes flicked between them, breathing hard. “You knew it affected you sexually,” he said at last. “You both knew it. You saw it before.”

Anders sighed. “I knew it affected me every way. Which is why I refused to touch him. But I… I really don’t think Fenris realised how it would affect himself. He wasn’t trying to _molest_ me,” Anders gave a brittle laugh. “I thought he was going to strangle me.”

Fenris flinched, remembering his hand on Anders’ neck, gripping hard for the instant before he’d pulled the mage down for a kiss.

Hawke’s eyes had returned to him. “You said you touched him. Deliberately. So you could control him.”

“I-” Fenris swallowed. “I wanted to make him touch me. I wanted him to submit to something I knew would make him feel weak. But he wouldn’t.” He looked down, away from Hawke’s gaze. “I was angry. At him. At everything. At being made into a slave again. I attacked him. It was wrong of me, I know. But the moment I touched him, the fight went out of me. Turned into something else. I’m sorry, Hawke. I could say it was because I wanted to want what he wanted, and I think that would be true, but it would be wrong of me to deny that I enjoyed it.”

“And,” Anders said, drawing Hawke’s attention to himself, “he asked me if I liked it and I said ‘yes’.”

“ _Justice_ said ‘yes’,” Fenris said, unwilling for Anders to take the blame for betraying his lover when he had seen how the mage had been afterwards. When he had admitted that only part of him had wanted what Fenris had done.

“It’s not that simple,” Anders said, quietly.

Hawke turned away, rubbing his head.

“Alright, fine. Neither of you are to blame, and both of you are. I don’t care. You’re not staying here together. Anders, you’re coming home with me.” He turned back, and Fenris immediately moved away from the door.

Anders nodded and stooped to pick up his coat.

They said nothing, and Fenris wanted to let them leave in silence, to simply be alone with his shame, but he couldn’t.

“Wait,” he said.

“Fenris,” Hawke’s voice was laden with warning.

“I need Anders to tell me what to do,” he admittedly reluctantly. “It’s one thing, when he’s here, and I know I’m doing what he wants. But if he’s gone, and I’m not… following his command…”

He could sense Hawke’s exasperation, but the warrior said nothing, leaving it up to Anders.

“Just… go to sleep, Fenris,” Anders said wearily. “And when you wake up in the morning, come to Hawke’s house and we’ll try to sort this out. OK, Hawke?

“Sure,” the other man said. “I suppose he better had. Good enough for you, Fenris?”

Fenris wanted nothing more than to hide from both of them for the foreseeable future, to drown his shame in wine and try to forget, but he knew that would help nothing. And he could already feel Anders’ command taking effect.

He needed to get to bed and go to sleep.

He needed to make sure he went to Hawke’s house in the morning.

So he simply said, “Yes, thank you,” and turned away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On this occasion, Hawke feels with his fists.
> 
> I don't usually go in for resolving emotions with fisticuffs, or think it's OK to punch a romantic rival. But I think in this case Hawke can be excused.


	7. Hawke and Anders have a talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders needs to set Hawke straight on some things before Fenris arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for your kind comments and kudos. I meant to do Nanowrimo for an original novel this month, but I got carried away with this little story and wrote 9,000 words (and counting) of Fenders instead. I honestly think it's been good for me to just have a little fun, and your encouragement has really buoyed me up.
> 
> I don't know if I'll be able to keep up the pace - I was ill this week and off work, with very little to do but write fanfic and watch the world burn on Twitter. Next week I need to get back to reality a bit, but don't worry, this story doesn't seem to remotely be done with me yet.
> 
> Speaking of which, this chapter starts with some descriptions of Hawke that make it clear that my Hawke is not default Hawke. In my head he's the Hawke I first romanced Anders with (a warrior with mostly blue choices, a strong sense of duty and what's right, and real kindness in his heart). He's the Hawke in my icon, but feel free to ignore the description and imagine your own Hawke if that works better for you.

Anders woke before Hawke. The deep exhaustion that had overtaken him the night before seemed to have finally lifted.

A small gap between the curtains allowed a golden shaft of light to spill across Hawke’s face, catching the red and gold colours in the brown of his hair, playing on the fine tips of his lashes. He wouldn’t have disturbed that restful image for the world.

But eventually, those eyelashes fluttered and Hawke opened his eyes. Sunlight caught on the startlingly blue irises as they contracted to narrow his pupils, focusing on Anders’ face.

“Hey,” said Hawke, sleepily.

“Hey,” said Anders.

And in the next moment, he watched as the memories of last night awoke on Hawke’s face.

Hawke groaned and pulled the covers up over his face.

Anders gently laid his hand over Hawke’s and pulled them back down.

“I, umm, I promise, I’ll fix everything,” Hawke said, sleep still croaking his voice, “but not right now.” He closed his eyes, found Anders hand again, and kissed it. “I mean it, though,” he said. “I will.”

“You don’t have to fix everything, you know,” Anders said, squeezing Hawke’s hand gently. “Not everything is as easy to clear out as a nest of giant spiders.”

Hawke snorted, his eyes still closed. “Don’t tell me again that it’s complicated, Anders. That’s…” he waves a hand blindly above him, “completely meaningless. Everything got…” he flapped the hand again, “…parts. Little parts. That make sense.”

“Parts you can hit with your fists?” Anders said, capturing the hand, its knuckles still bruised from connecting with Fenris’s face.

Hawke pulled it out from Anders’ grasp, back under the covers. His eyes were still closed, but Anders could tell sleep was fading fast. “Stop it, OK?” Hawke said. “Stop making excuses for him.”

“Hawke,” he said, trailing a finger along his lover’s chin, feeling the familiar rasp of his stubble, finally drawing the other man’s eyes to open and look at him. “We need to talk. Before you rush off to save everyone, I need you to hear something, OK?”

Hawke’s eyes looked rebellion at him, but he said nothing.

“You need to know that… everything Fenris said to you last night, he said to cast himself in the worst possible light.”

“Was he lying?” Hawke asked. “Did you touch him first? Did… he not hear you tell him ‘no’? Did you command him to force himself on you?”

“Hawke,” Anders said. “The protectiveness is… actually surprisingly hot. But I do need you to listen to me, OK?”

Hawke glared at him, but stayed silent.

“Fenris told you,” Anders said, “That I did not consent, that only Justice said he wanted what happened.”

Hawke’s eyes flashed. “Yes, Anders, and I heard what you said last night. I know there’s no fixed line between you and Justice, but-”

“Will you let me finish, please?” Anders asked.

Hawke closed him mouth on whatever he’d meant to say next. “Sorry,” he said. “Go on.”

“I know you understand that my relationship with Justice is, however much you dislike the word, ‘complicated’, but that’s not the point. I,” Anders took a deep breath. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I also need you to know that I – Anders, the man – was not entirely unwilling. Although under normal circumstances I never would have-”

“But that’s _just_ the point,” Hawke exploded. “I don’t expect you to only have eyes for me. It’s normal to-”

“ _Hawke_ ,” Anders said. “ _Please_ , you have to hear me out. I need you to not assume you know what I’m going to say.”

Hawke swallowed. “Sorry,” he said again. For a moment he looked like he wanted to add something else, but then he shook his head and closed his mouth.

“The point is,” Anders went on, “Fenris had _no idea_ I wasn’t consenting, spirit and man, in every part, until _after_ we had sex.”

Hawke waited a second, in case Anders wanted to say more, and then responded. “Anders, he deliberately goaded you into a state where he knew you weren’t in control.”

“Yes,” Anders said. “He provoked me. Fully expecting, _as he and I had discussed before he did it_ , that by touching me I would lose control, _but also that he would, too_. When I touched him before he became _utterly_ devoid of will. Don’t you remember? He’d spent the day completely under my thrall, but knowing that it seemed like I’d done him a kindness. I did exactly what he asked me to. But that didn’t make it OK. He was a _slave_ Hawke, have you somehow forgotten?”

“No, Anders,” Hawke protested, “But-”

“But _nothing_. I know what it is to have your freedoms completely curtailed. You think you know, because your sister is an apostate, but she’s had freedoms I’ll _never_ know. And Fenris…” he ran a hand through his hair, reluctant to admit he’d been wrong to say their experiences were the same - still feeling like there was a core truth there somewhere - but knowing, now, that there were differences, and that they mattered. “Fenris doesn’t even remember most of his life. And this spell… it must be from Danarius. You know that. To completely control him. To make him _beg_ to be commanded.” He took a few steadying breaths. “He thought that touching me would reduce him to that again. He did it because he wanted to level the playing field. Because the illusion of free will was a cruel joke.”

“Anders…” Hawke said, quieter this time.

He shook his head. “I’m still not done. You’re mad at him because you think he knowingly made me sleep with him against my will. And he told you that when he asked if I was enjoying it only Justice said yes. But,” Anders was surprised to find it suddenly difficult to get the words out. “But he didn’t know that,” Anders said, his eyes suddenly hot with tears. He took a shaky breath, and went on, embarrassed to find his voice still unsteady, but pushing through. “He didn’t know that until after. When he saw I wasn’t myself and asked if I was OK.

“And, umm,” Anders brushed furiously at the hot tears that were betraying him, that would mislead Hawke into thinking something other was going on to what he said. He took another deep breath and continued. “And you need to understand, it really isn’t like only Justice was willing. I mean, Hawke, Justice does _not know_ how to have sex. He wanted to be close to Fenris, but he had… _no idea_.” He met Hawke’s eyes at last, raising his brows. “Seriously Hawke, if I had not been involved, that would have been some _really_ bad sex.”

The mixed feelings he read in Hawke’s eyes were difficult to meet. Too much sympathy and pity by half. But he was pleased to get a smile and a reluctant bark of laughter out of that last.

Hawke’s hand reached up and caressed the rough stubble of his cheek. Then, gently, he leant in and kissed him. A tender kiss – soft lips and nothing else. Just closeness, and the connection of two people.

“Alright,” Hawke said, resting his head closer to Anders’ as he lay back down. “If you say he thought you consented. I believe you.”

“It’s not just that, Hawke-”

“I know,” Hawke said, tiredly. “It’s complicated.”

“Yeah.”

“And, uh – it’s good, for some reason,” Hawke added. “That it was good sex.”

“Yeah.”

“With another man.”

“Sorry.”

Hawke sighed. “That’s OK,” he said. “I get good sex later, though, right?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“But not right now.”

“No.”

“Good.”

Anders frowned. “What?”

Hawke smiled, half-teasing, half-reasuring. “’Cause you’re a bit fucked up right now, and that wouldn’t be good.”

Anders chuckled, grabbed Hawke’s hand and kissed it. “OK, sure.”


	8. In which Merrill brings muffins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders examines the maul that struck Fenris whilst waiting for the elf. Hawke has asked Merrill to join them, suspecting blood magic was involved in the spell. Fenris deals with trying to function normally under Anders' latest command.

Anders crouched down to look at the ugly maul that lay on the rug in front of the fire. He noted that Hawke’s mabari, Dogger, was seated well away from it, but watching closely, ears back, occasionally rumbling with a low growl.

The weapon was encrusted with runes, in between wicked-looking curved spikes. It was coated on one side with dried blood – Fenris’s, presumably – but otherwise remarkably clean.

“What did Sandal say about it?” Anders asked, standing up.

“Sandal doesn’t even like to look at the thing,” Bodahn said. “Really, Messere, can we not put it somewhere else?”

Hawke bent and picked the maul up, causing Anders to hastily retreat out of its way. He wasn’t versed enough in enchantment to fully understand the ugly purpose of its runes, but he instinctively sensed that adding his blood to Fenris’s would be a very bad idea.

“I wanted it somewhere with good light,” Hawke said, "but perhaps it is better off in the library.” Grasping it with both hands, he carried it through to the other room.

Anders followed, but lingered in the doorway.

“What do you make of it?” Hawke asked, as he laid the weapon on the library floor.

Anders wrinkled his nose. “Honestly, I don’t know enough about that kind of magic, but it’s not good. And the way it’s clean everywhere but the side it hit Fenris? It hasn’t been used before. This is a weapon with one purpose, and I strongly suspect it involves blood magic.”

Hawke nodded. “I thought the same. I’ve asked Merrill to come over and take a look at it. I hope you don’t mind.”

Anders crossed his arms. “I can’t say I’m thrilled. I feel like if you’re _practicing_ blood magic you’ve failed to learn the most important thing about it. But I suppose she’s the closest thing we have to an expert.”

“Well, be nice,” said Hawke.

“I’m always nice!” Anders protested. “I like Merrill – she’s a sweet girl – I just think she’s…”

“A dirty blood mage?” Hawke asked.

“ _Misguided_ ,” Anders finished.

“OK. Well,” Hawke said. “She’ll be here soon. And she knows something you don’t, so try to respect that.”

Anders rolled his eyes, but decided to leave it. “I wonder where Fenris is,” he said, changing the subject. “I hope he’s OK.”

Hawke crossed over and squeezed Anders’ arm. “He’ll be fine. You told him to be here. He’ll be here.”

Anders grimaced, but nodded.

***

Fenris was awake, but reluctant to leave the mansion. Anders’ command tugged at him, but he was trying to resist it.

It had set in almost before he was fully conscious. _When you wake up in the morning, come to Hawke’s house_ , was what he’d said. Not _when you wake up, have some breakfast and come to Hawke’s house_ or _when you wake up, get dressed and come over_. He’d been down the stairs and half way to the door before he realised he was wearing only his tunic.

It had taken all Fenris’s will to turn around and get dressed, but having discovered he could resist the compulsion at least that much, he wanted to test it further. Or, he told himself that was what he was doing. If he dwelled on his own reluctance to face Anders and Hawke after last night, he was immediately overwhelmed by the knowledge that Anders wanted him to go to Hawke’s estate anyway, and that his own wishes didn’t matter.

But if he focused on what Anders might expect, on any nuance he could interpret in Anders’ words, he found he could delay a little.

Anders surely would not have expected him to skip breakfast.

If he went over too early, Anders might still be asleep. He didn’t want to disturb him.

He tried to busy himself with tidying the mansion, or at least his room. It wasn’t something he frequently did of his own will, but if Anders came over again, he might appreciate clean sheets. Might as well think of what else he might need until it was a reasonable time to visit his…

Fenris’s mouth twisted at the line his own thoughts were taking.

 _Not_ his master. Anders was _not_ his master. His friend? Barely. His lover? _No_.

He rubbed his eyes. “ _Fasta vass!_ ” he swore. This wasn’t getting any better. 

It was time to give up. The sun was well risen by now, and he could no longer really believe that Anders would still be asleep. He’d be wondering where Fenris was - _why I’m not obeying his command_. 

Panic rose in him at that. “No, I wasn’t – not disobeying, just…” _just seeing how much you could disobey, you treacherous beast_. 

His feet moved of their own accord. It was time to go. Past time to go. He hardly paused to grab his sword before he left the house, but just to be moving in the right direction made him feel better. 

*** 

Fenris arrived only shortly before Merrill, looking somewhat the worse for wear. His face was swollen and mottled black and blue from where Hawke had hit him, and it was clear he hadn’t washed. His usually shining white hair hung in lank locks about his face. 

He hadn’t knocked, but merely entered, moving swiftly through the entrance hall to find Anders before the fire in the main living area. 

“I’m here,” he said, crossing the space between them, making Anders hastily retreat. 

“Fenris, stop!” he said, as the elf’s tattoos flared into life at their proximity. 

Fenris halted abruptly. 

Anders retreated several paces until the lyrium subsided again. He’d felt just the barest flicker of interest from Justice, much less than last night, but didn’t have time to think about that right now. 

Fenris was glaring at him, and Anders realised belatedly that he’d issued another command. 

“I-I mean, you don’t have to,” he said. “But I’d really appreciate it if… if we maintained a reasonable distance between us. OK?” 

A subtle shift in Fenris’s posture suggested that he felt released from the command. Thankfully, he didn’t come any closer. 

“Bodahn,” Hawke said, startling them both back to an awareness that there were others in the room. “Why don’t you go find Sandal and have a day out in Hightown?” He handed the dwarf a small pouch of money. “On me. You said Sandal’s been uncomfortable since we brought the maul into the house – why don’t you treat him to something nice whilst we… deal with it?” 

“That’s… very generous, Messere,” Bodahn said. He looked for a moment as though he would protest the gift, but could clearly sense that Hawke wanted some privacy. “I’ll go find him,” he said, and ducked out of the room. 

“Thank you, Hawke,” Fenris said, quietly, not looking at his friend. 

Anders looked to Hawke, hoping their talk earlier had had some effect. He was relieved to see more pity in Hawke’s face than anger. 

“Fenris,” Hawke said, coming closer to the elf as Anders could not. “I’m sorry about last night. I was… angry.” 

“You’ve nothing to apologise for,” Fenris said, stiffly. 

“Look, Anders and I-” 

Hawke was interrupted by a light knock at the front door, followed by Merrill. 

“Hello,” Merrill called from the entrance hall. “Alright if I come in? I brought muffins – hope that’s OK. Isabella and I had muffins last night and there were loads left over and I thought, I’m sure Hawke likes muffins. You do, don’t you Hawke?” She walked into the living room and put a basket down on the table by the door, oblivious to the tension between the men in the room. 

“Goodness, Fenris,” she said, turning to face him. “You look awful! What happened to your face?” She crossed over to him, reaching out a hand. “Here, let me fix that.” 

“No, don’t, it’s fine,” Fenris said, stepping back from her touch. 

She looked a bit uncertain, but lowered her hand. “If you say so.” She looked over to Hawke. “Well, then, where’s this maul?” 


	9. Merrill explains a few things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill explains what the runes on the maul mean and realises some of what has happened between Fenris and Anders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, I can't keep away from this story, but I have so much to do. Hopefully a double update now will tide you over for a few days.

Hawke had lifted the maul up onto a table for Merrill to study, but only after covering the surface with a thick cloth. He’d had a sudden horror of what his mother would have thought at scratching up the furniture with its wicked spikes.

The three men stood a little awkwardly as Merrill examined the object. Hawke and Anders together, Fenris some way apart at the back of the room.

“Goodness,” she said, eventually. “It’s a nasty piece of work, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Hawke said. “But can you tell what it does? What the runes are? Is there blood magic involved?”

“Oh, definitely,” Merrill said, turning to face them. “I mean, it’s pretty intricate. I need to have a sit down with a bit of paper and think about how all the runes work together, but the gist is pretty obvious.”

“Is it?” said Anders, to whom the runes had seemed archaic, and only a little to the left of meaningless.

“Well, most of them are about two things, aren’t they?” Merrill said. “Binding and command.”

“Oh?” said Hawke, encouragingly.

“Yes,” said Merrill, turning back to the maul. “See, this one here? That’s ‘elgar’nevahn’, for spirit binding. It’s ancient elvish. Well, some of it’s elvish. Some of it’s something else entirely. Tevinter, maybe?” She looked to Fenris, who merely shrugged. Hawke had been teaching him to read, but not his native tongue. “And this one’s ‘command’, ‘obedience’ – this one’s a bit like ‘listen’, but I’m not sure…”

“I’ve never heard of runes like that before,” Anders said. “Fire runes, lightning, paralyze – nothing like that.”

Merrill snorted. “And you thought that was the whole language, did you?”

“Well, no, I just – never mind,” said Anders. “What does it mean then? I mean, those runes make sense, I guess, but what exactly does the spell do?”

“Hmmm,” said Merrill. “I can take a guess. I mean, we’re assuming this was from Danarius, right?” She looked to Fenris, who nodded curtly, but said nothing. “I’d guess it’s meant to prepare you. Like the first part of a ritual. It’s like it’s saying ‘Do what you’re told’, ‘Be open to what I give you’, ‘Listen to my desires’, that kind of thing. But then the binding stuff, that’s not for you.”

“It’s not?” Fenris asked, surprised.

“No,” Merrill said. “You’re not a spirit, are you? You can’t be bound. It’s a lot harder to control a man than it is a spirit. Spirits are out of their element. Rebellious and confused if you summon them against their will, usually, but you can bind them with the right power and the right rituals. And you can bind them into a person, of course,” she said, glancing at Anders. “But not usually against their will. That’s why spirits are so interested in making deals. Getting you to agree with something.”

“A joining isn’t the same as binding a spirit, though,” Anders protested.

“No,” Merrill said. “But that’s the point, isn’t it?”

Hawke glanced at the other men, relieved to see they were also struggling to follow her a bit.

“If you want to control a man, you can’t bind him,” Merrill said. “But if you bind a spirit to your will, then you find some other way to sort of… put the spirit in the man, then it’s sorted, isn’t it?”

“You’re saying there’s a spirit in me?” Fenris said, horrified.

“No, no, no,” Merrill said. “I mean, I think that’s what it’s meant to do. But clearly there’s meant to be a second part of the ritual. Because there isn’t a spirit in you, is there? You’d be able to tell.”

“I would?” Fenris said, hopeful, but still clearly worried.

“You would, believe me,” said Anders. Their eyes met, and something passed between them. Fenris looked away.

“But like I say,” Merrill went on. “You don’t usually put a spirit in a man against his will, especially if he’s not a mage to begin with. So I think that’s what some of these runes are doing – sort of… preparing you. Saying ‘Be open to this’, ‘share my desires’, ‘listen to what I want’. At a guess, the second part of the ritual…” she frowned. “Fenris, do you mind if I take a look at your markings? I won’t bite,” she smiled sweetly. “You can have a muffin if you like?”

“No, that, uh… won’t be necessary,” Fenris muttered. “Do what you need to.”

“OK,” she said. “Just give me your hand for a moment, then.”

He held it out, and she traced the pale white lines with her fingers. “That makes sense, I suppose,” she said, after a moment. “They’re full of lyrium, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Fenris said, pursing his lips.

“Well,” she said, “lyrium helps boost a mage’s connection to the fade, doesn’t it? And the markings, they go everywhere, don’t they? All around you.”

The other elf blushed, his ears twitching. “Yes. Is there a point to this?”

“Well, you’re just like a little circle of fade, really, aren’t you?”

“What?” Fenris said, clearly disliking the idea.

“No, that’s right,” Anders said. “That’s what Justice is always saying: that you feel like the Fade.”

“I mean, you’re not,” Merrill said quickly. “Don’t worry. But you’re a bit like it. Enough that a spirit might be sort of… drawn into you. Into the markings, I mean. And if a magister was in control of the spirit, and the spirit was in control of you – you were open to the spirit, listening to what it wanted, doing what it said, that kind of thing. Well, then the magister would be in control of you, wouldn’t he?”

The colour that had flushed Fenris’s cheeks drained away, and he looked at Anders.

“What?” said Merrill. “Am I missing something? I am, aren’t I?” She looked between the two men, and then understanding dawned on her face.

“Oh,” she said. “Ohhhhh. That explains a lot.”

“What?” said Hawke.

“I don’t…” Merrill looked uncertainly between the three men. “Maybe I should talk to Fenris and Anders alone for a minute, Hawke? You could go have a muffin? They really are very nice.”

“It’s OK, Merrill,” Anders said. “I think you can say anything you’d say to us in front of Hawke.” He looked to Fenris and paused, choosing his words carefully, Hawke suspected. “Do you think, Fenris? You can ask Hawke to leave, if you want.”

But Fenris shook his head. “No, Hawke can stay.”

Merrill shrugged. “OK, then. Anders, why don’t you come stand over here by Fenris.”

“No!” both men said, quickly.

Merrill wrinkled her nose. “Thought so. It’s Justice, isn’t it?”

Fenris nodded, thin-lipped.

“Is that what woke you up? You were with Anders and Justice reached across to you, or something?” she asked.

Anders cleared his throat. “I was, uh, examining Fenris, and my hand brushed one of his tattoos.”

Merrill nodded. “That makes sense. The spell probably thought, ‘Here we go, time for part two!’ What happened then?”

Anders looked away, uncomfortable.

Finally, Fenris said, quietly: “I asked him to command me.”

“And did you?” Merrill asked Anders.

“No!” he exclaimed, horrified. “I would never, I-” he broke off, and Hawke knew he was remembering all the times he had told Fenris what to do after that.

Unable to do much else, he put an arm around Anders’ shoulders and squeezed him gently.

“That’s good, then,” Merrill said.

“Wait,” Anders said. “I didn’t do it then, but, later…”

“Only when I asked,” Fenris added, hastily.

“No, that’s fine,” Merrill reassured them, then corrected as Anders and Fenris both stared at her in horror. “I mean, it’s not _fine_ , is it? But it means it wasn’t part of the spell. Not that the spell would have ever worked properly anyway, under the circumstances.”

“I don’t understand,” Fenris said. “The spell _did_ work. I have to do everything he says.”

“But you’re not full of spirit, just waiting around to be commanded, are you? You’re not _bound_ to Anders, you can’t be,” she said. “The spirit you connected with is already joined to someone else. Justice _can’t_ inhabit the lyrium in your tattoos, even if he wanted to.”

“He does, though,” Anders said, uneasily. “He wants to be with Fenris all the time. That was the first thing he thought, when Fenris woke up and asked to be commanded: ‘Tell him to come closer.’”

“What?” Fenris said, looking at Anders, who wouldn’t meet his gaze. “You never told me that.”

“Of course not,” Anders said. “I told him no, that it wasn’t really what he wanted, that it wasn’t just, and he agreed. But… he’s not behaving like himself. It’s… worrying. Merrill,” he said, looking at her, ignoring Fenris’s stare. “Why would he do that, if the second part of the ritual didn’t work?”

“Well,” she said. “Like I say, Justice can’t leave you. And apart from touching Fenris, you didn’t perform any of the other parts of the ritual, whatever they might be. It’s not just about the runes – you didn’t shed any of your own blood, did you?”

“No.” Anders shook his head.

“But Justice is still a spirit,” Merrill said, a little sadly. “Fenris was still… primed, if you like. His blood is all over those runes of binding and command. Fenris is still sort of… calling out to him. Like a little patch of Fade, saying ‘Hey, spirit, come over here – I can be whatever you desire!’”

Fenris gave a little huff and turned away abruptly, leaving the library and heading into the other room.

Hawke followed, pausing in the doorway. The elf had helped himself to one of Merrill’s muffins and was standing by Dogger, one hand absentmindedly petting the mabari, who whined in concern.

“Sorry, Fenris,” Merrill said, coming to stand next to Hawke.

Fenris didn’t look back, but shook his head. “You didn’t say anything but the truth.”

“It’s not all bad, though,” she said, trying to sound like her usual, cheery self, “Anders didn’t complete the ritual. He didn’t tell you what to do at the moment you were primed to hear it. His blood hasn’t been mixed with yours. And Justice can’t leave him anyway. That’s a lot of things the ritual would have needed that didn’t happen. Can’t happen.”

“Anders didn’t tell me what to do,” Fenris said, quietly, rubbing Dogger’s wrinkly forehead. “But his demon thought a command: _Come closer_ – that’s what you said, wasn’t it Anders? He wanted me to come closer. And that’s what I’ve kept saying to you. ‘Come closer’, or ‘Tell me to come closer to you’. Like I was trying to be what the demon desired.”

Hawke glanced at Anders. He looked sick with guilt.

Merrill took a few steps towards him, then halted. “You can’t though,” she said. “You can’t ever get any closer to Justice. Not the way he wants. That’s something, isn’t it?”

Fenris said nothing.


	10. Orana draws Fenris a bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke suggests that Fenris take a moment to relax and clean up. Whilst waiting for the bath to be drawn, Fenris and Merrill talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have not forgotten that this story was meant to be about teh smut. Don't worry, we are building back up towards sexing again. In the meantime, have a nice quiet moment between Fenris and Merril.

Chapter 10

“OK,” Hawke said, to break the awkward silence. “We know what happened. Does that help us to undo it?”

Merrill shrugged. “It should do. I’ll need to take a closer look at those runes. Have a think. But it’s a place to start.”

Hawke looked between the other two men to see if that lifted their mood any, but both looked uncomfortable and somewhat haggard. Especially Fenris. “Look,” he said, moving a little closer to the elf. “Why don’t I ask Orana to draw you a bath? We’re not going to solve this right away, but it might do you some good to relax and-”

“Clean away the stench and sweat and grime?” Fenris asked, bitterly, still facing away from the rest of the room, looking down at the dog.

Hawke wanted to protest that it wasn’t that bad, but whilst Fenris was exaggerating, he looked so unlike himself it was hard to deny he could do with bathing. “I just… thought you might welcome the chance, and maybe some time alone. I know things have been… awkward, over the last day.”

Fenris looked over his shoulder to Anders. “May I?” he said, acidly.

“O-of course,” Anders stammered, “If that’s what you want.”

Something flashed in Fenris’s eyes. “Then tell me to, mage. You said yesterday you’d tell me to do the things I wanted. You know I need that. So tell me.”

Anders looked pained. “Is that necessary?” he looked to Merrill. “Surely Danarius would only have wanted to be able to command Fenris, not for Fenris to constantly need commanding. Is there nothing we can do, to… lessen that?”

Merrill frowned. “I don’t know, exactly,” Merrill said. “Maybe Danarius would just naturally have given Fenris more commands. Or maybe he’d like the idea of, well-”

“Of my craving his instruction,” Fenris finished for her, his voice dark and tense.

“ _Or_ ,” Merrill went on. “It might be because the ritual was never finished. Fenris would have been primed for the instruction that led to the binding. If that never came, maybe he’s still feeling the compulsion to obey whatever command comes next.”

Fenris grunted. “Mage, just do it.”

Anders sighed. “Alright. When–” he said, carefully. “when Orana has finished drawing the bath, go up to Hawke’s room and take it… as you normally would. Take however long you need. Get dressed and come join us again when you’re ready.” He looked questioningly at Fenris. “Is that OK?”

“Yes,” said Fenris, some of the tension released from his voice at last. Hawke suddenly wondered if it had been building since Fenris had entered the house – since he had completed Anders’ last instruction and been left to act under his own will.

He shivered.

“Good,” Hawke said, a little too forcefully. “I’ll go tell Orana, then.”

As Hawke opened the door that led to the servants quarters, Anders turned abruptly and fled to the library, leaving Merrill and Fenris alone.

***

Merrill came to stand by the fire, on the other side of Dogger. She gave the mabari a brief scratch on the chin, then looked shyly up at Fenris.

She knew he had always disliked her, avoided her, resented her for her use of blood magic. She tried not to take it personally, she knew it was misunderstood, and Fenris had every reason to mistrust mages, especially those who would use a kind of magic often turned to darker purposes.

“Will you let me help you with that, now?” she said quietly, gesturing to the dark and swollen skin on the left side of his face. “I understand why you didn’t ask Anders, and I know you don’t really trust me, but-”

“What?” Fenris looked down at her, surprised. “No, it isn’t that. I-” he hesitated. “I do mistrust the magic you use. It is dangerous and you are a fool if you think you can control it. But… I know you’re trying to help me. I am,” he said awkwardly, “grateful.”

She smiled. “Then let me fix your face,” she said, raising her hand again.

Fenris stepped back to avoid her touch, causing Dogger to whine. “No, don’t,” he said. “I deserved it.”

Merrill raised her eyebrows. “Because of something you did? In the day since I last saw you?”

“Yes,” said Fenris.

“When you had to do everything Anders said?”

Fenris looked down. “It wasn’t something Anders wanted.”

“What, and he hit you for it?” said Merrill, “Because I think Anders can-”

“ _No_ ,” Fenris said, moving away. “It wasn’t Anders,” he said, misery written in his voice. He sat down on a low bench at the side of the room, burying his face in his hands.

Gingerly, Merrill crossed over to him, sat down beside him. Dogger followed and tilted his head to one side, giving another, quiet whine.

“What happened, then?” Merrill said, softly.

She wasn’t sure he would respond, but finally he said. “It was… something Justice wanted, but Anders didn’t.”

“Well,” Merrill said, “sounds like Justice’s fault, if you ask me.”

Fenris snorted. “Perhaps.”

“No,” she said, decisively. “Not perhaps. You’re not comfortable having a bath unless Anders tells you to. Whatever this thing was… look. Would you have done it two days ago?”

Fenris gave a surprised bark of laughter. “Definitely not,” he said, sitting up and rubbing at the good side of his face. She pretended not to see that it had been damp.

“Would you have done it if Justice hadn’t wanted you to?”

“No,” Fenris said, with some conviction now.

“Well, then,” she said. “Not your fault. So, will you let me help you?”

He sighed, but nodded, turning so she could reach the darkened side of his face more easily.

She lifted a hand, just to better direct the flow of the magic, but didn’t touch him. The swelling subsided, and slowly the dark bruising of blood that had collected under the broken skin drained away.

“Thank you,” Fenris said, his usual antagonism faded like the blood. “I… appreciate all that you are doing for me.”

Merrill lowered her hand. “It’s a dark magic at work here. You don’t deserve that, either. Nobody does. I’ll do what I can to fix this for you,” she said, her usual cheery disposition replaced by solemnity. “I promise.”

“Thank you,” he said again.

They sat side-by-side, then, in an almost comfortable silence. Fenris finishing his muffin and Merrill fussing Dogger, who seemed relieved that some of the tension had lifted.

Eventually, Orana came to let them know the bath was ready, and Fenris stood and crossed to the stairs, obeying Anders’ command.


	11. In which Merrill notices something weird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders asks Merrill's advice about why Justice is so quiet this morning, the answer to which gives her the giggles.

Merrill entered the library as Hawke was preparing to go. He had changed out of the monogrammed pyjamas (which she'd always secretly found a bit silly) and was dressed in his full plate armour.

“Just send Orana,” Anders was saying, his hand on Hawke’s arm.

“And if Danarius has just been waiting for some vulnerable unarmed girl to leave my estate?” Hawke asked.

“If Danarius was watching your house, don’t you think he would have grabbed Fenris when he arrived this morning?”

“I don’t know,” said Hawke, “And neither do you. It might take a while for Danarius to track Fenris, but that just means he might find us at any time. I’ll be there and back as soon as possible. Believe me,” he said, putting his hand to Anders’ neck. “I don’t want to leave you either, with only Merrill for protection, but that just means its all the more important to get Aveline to station some guards.”

“I’m not completely useless, you know,” Anders said, putting his hand over Hawke’s.

“But you’re compromised.” Hawke looked into his eyes earnestly. “Whether you like it or not, that spell has a power over both of you, and it was intended to be wielded by Danarius.” Hawke pulled Anders forward so their heads rested together. “He only needs Justice to control Fenris. That’d be a lot simpler if you were dead,” he whispered thickly, his voice only just audible to Merrill, who tried to busy herself looking at a book.

“Hey,” Anders said, stroking Hawke’s hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Hawke sighed, then straightened up. “No,” he said. “You’re not.” He kissed Anders then, his fingers lost in the mage’s hair.

Merrill stared furiously at words she wasn’t reading. She’d have turned around and left the room to give them some privacy, but felt as though she’d reached the point where leaving would only draw more attention to herself.

“I won’t be long,” Hawke said, when the kiss broke. Then he turned and left before Anders could voice any more objections.

He nodded at Merrill just as though her standing there hadn’t been awkward at all. _Maybe it wasn’t for Hawke_ , Merrill thought. _He’s probably used to that kind of thing_.

“Merrill,” Anders said, startling her into a squeal and making her drop the book.

“Sorry, sorry!” she said. “Own little world.” She busied herself picking it up and putting it back on the shelf, still not entirely sure what it was she’d been ‘reading’.

She’d expected Anders to make fun of her for it, or at least smirk at her flimsy excuse, but he seemed preoccupied.

“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to make you jump. I just… I wanted to ask you something… about Justice.”

“Of course,” she said. “Hope I can help.” She supressed the urge to feel just a little bit smug that Anders, who had always thought her naïve when it came to spirits, was now asking her advice about the one he had made a deal with.

Anders cleared his throat. “I told you he was behaving strangely, of his interest in Fenris’s tattoos.”

“In the lyrium, yes,” she said. “Well, we know why that is, now.”

Anders nodded. “But that’s just it. Last night he was obsessed with it. Couldn’t think of anything else when Fenris was in the same room. Completely overwhelmed if we… came too close. But this morning… almost nothing.” Anders rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know how to describe it. He’s not ignoring me; he’s just not that interested. He’s barely interested in Fenris. It’s like something else has his whole attention, but somehow I don’t know what it is.” He looked at her. “It’s not easy to hide what you’re thinking about in our situation.”

Merrill frowned. “That does sound strange. Let me have a look at you.”

She cast her eyes over Anders, but looked more with her mind than her sight.

“Huh,” she said, after a moment. “That is weird.”

“What?” Anders asked, clearly worried.

“How did that get there?” she asked, sensing a warm blue glow deep down in Anders’ abdomen.

“ _What_ , Merrill?” he said. “What is it?”

“Well,” she said. “It’s like there’s this little patch of enchanted lyrium hanging out around your middle. About there,” she said, poking him in the belly. She looked at him suspiciously. “You didn’t, I mean... _You_ wouldn’t have engaged in any blood magic, would you?”

Anders battered her hand away, outraged. “Merrill, _no_ , I would never!”

She raised her eyebrows, “I didn’t think so. But then, I can’t work out how there’s a little bit of Fenris _in_ you,” she said. “Like a little bit of the lyrium of his markings rubbed off, somehow. But not on your skin. It’s _inside_ you.”

The outrage on Anders’ face was replaced by something she couldn’t quite read. His cheeks looked a little pink, and he looked away. “Oh,” he said, “Oh, I think I know what that might be. Nevermind.”

Worried, now, she said: “Anders, I don’t want to pry, but if it’s affecting Justice like you say, then it’s affecting the spell, and it might be important.”

The human mage was still avoiding her gaze. “Uh, it’s a bit… I’m not sure Fenris would want me talking about it to you.”

“What?” she said, and then giggled, imagining what Isabella might say if she were here. “It’s not a sex thing, is it?”

Anders surprised her by blushing bright red and staring at her. She gasped. “Nooooooo. You and Fenris?”

“Shhhh!” Anders said. “Keep your voice down!”

“ _Nooooo_ ,” she said again, unable to keep the wicked grin off her face. “But… what about Hawke?”

“Hawke knows,” Anders said, a little defensively. “It – it just happened. Can we please not talk about it?”

“But… _really_?”

“ _Merrill_.”

 _Who would have thought!_ “Well,” she said, a little mischievously. “The good news is Justice should be back to normal in a few hours. Well, not, _normal_ normal. But like he was before you… you know.”

“He will?” Anders said.

“I should think so,” she said. “It should come out the other end, shouldn’t it? Or was it the same end?”

“ _Merrill!_ ”

She giggled again. Couldn’t help it. _Oh my goodness, if only I could tell Isabella!_

“It’s not funny,” Anders said, but a smile was quirking the edge of his mouth.

“It is a little,” she said. “You’ve got a little Fenris in you!” She burst out laughing again, and was pleased, after a moment, to hear Anders laughing, too. It had been a long time since she had heard him laugh. It had seemed like he was always joking around with Varric when they’d first met, but that laughter had faded away over the years.

“Oh, Maker,” Anders said, between laughs. “But really it isn’t funny. Don’t tell Fenris I was laughing, it’ll only confuse him.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “Fenris could use a good laugh.”

Anders sighed, and his smiled faded. “Maybe, but not about this, I’m serious, Merrill.

She looked at him curious, something ticking over in her mind. “This isn’t…?”

“What?”

She shook her head. “Nevermind. You’re right, I shouldn’t pry. I just never get to hear the juicy stuff.” She winked at him, and he seemed to relax. “But you and Hawke are still together, though?”

“Yes,” said Anders, looking relieved. “It was just… a product of this situation. Don’t tell Fenris I told you, though, OK? At least, not until I’ve had a chance to talk to him.”

She smiled, enjoying this new found camaraderie. “My lips are sealed.”

“Thank you,” said Anders. “And… thank you for explaining what was happening with Justice. You have no idea how strange it is. It’s like… suddenly I don’t know what half my mind is doing.”

Merrill nodded sympathetically, bit back against the temptation to comment on how foolish it was to have bonded with a spirit in the first place. This was no time for I-told-you-sos. “We’ll sort it out,” she said, willing her confidence into reality. “Come on, let’s take another look at those runes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut is coming, but if you don't have time for Merrill giggling because Anders has sperm in his belly, I don't know what to say.


	12. Anders relieves some tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justice's attention returns to Anders once Fenris's lyrium-laced seed has passed through his body. At first Justice seems content, but his obsession with Fenris slowly builds again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anders' imagination decided on providing a little extra smut I hadn't planned for. Please enjoy a little kinky bonus Justice/Anders/Fenris.
> 
> (Tags updated to reflect events that have passed since the first chapter, and events that are yet to come...)

The little bit of Fenris that was inside Anders ‘passed out’ later that afternoon.

At first, it was a relief. It was as though Justice swam to the surface of Anders’ mind, filling in all the gaps where he had pulled away. The spirit felt sated, content.

As their consciousnesses bled back into one another, Anders felt something of the thrill and awe Justice had felt as what seemed like a little patch of the Fade passed through them. The sense of peace it conveyed, tantalising in its suggestion of what more such lyrium could offer. It had not completely satisfied him – there was so little of it – but what there was had utterly captivated him. It felt like home. He ached for it.

At the same time, Justice learned what exactly that little patch of Fade had been.

Conflicting emotions arose from that. Disgust, at something so bodily and messy. Repulsion that they were practically in thrall to someone who hated mages so, who opposed so thoroughly everything they were trying to achieve. Guilt and shame that Justice’s desires had overwhelmed both Anders and Fenris to bring about that union, though the spirit hadn’t fully understood how the impulse he’d felt to get closer to Fenris had affected the two men at the time. And a little foolishness. That he had not realised that the little patch of Fade that had occupied his thoughts all day had in reality been the bodily effluvia he had swallowed so gratefully.

Of course it had been. But he had been so obsessed with it, from the moment it had hit the back of their throat, that all other concerns had been pushed to the side.

Hawke noticed that Anders had become quiet whilst he and Merrill talked about their progress, and what they might need to do next. (Fenris seemed mostly to prefer to be in whatever room Anders was not, and was settled in the living room at the moment, reading a book on spirits meant for apprentices, and petting the dog.)

“Anders,” Hawke said, crossing over to him. “Are you OK?”

Hawke had changed out of his mail when he got home, donning a lighter, leather armour instead. Aveline had stationed two guards outside his door, but Hawke was still reluctant to relax.

Anders’ unfocused eyes blinked and then looked at Hawke. “Yes, I’m… fine. It’s just that Justice has… come back to his senses, if you like.”

“Oooh, you had a visit to the little boys' room, did you?” asked Merrill.

Anders rolled his eyes. “Yes, Merrill.” To Hawke, he grimaced. He’d drawn the man aside earlier and explained Merrill’s theory. He hadn’t exactly wanted to tell his lover that the spirit that lived within him was currently obsessed with another man’s spunk travelling through his gut, but he felt like he owed Hawke honesty. And explaining the absence of Justice’s conscious attention to their discussions had seemed important.

Hawke laid his hand on Anders’. “Are the two of you…?”

“We’re… reconnecting, I guess,” Anders said. “He’s a bit embarrassed to realise what he’s been doing all day. A bit ashamed about what happened last night. Increasingly angry with Danarius.”

“Aren’t we all,” muttered Hawke.

After that, the discussion had turned to what they could do about the possibility that Danarius was watching them or tracking Fenris, and the elf had drifted back into the room. Anders stiffened at his proximity, Justice drawn to look at him, to trace the lines of lyrium visible at his neck.

Anders stood and moved away, feeling Fenris’s eyes on him, although he refused to look again, tried to look at something else whenever he had to speak to Fenris.

Eventually it was decided that they should bring Varric into the little circle of people who understood what had happened. Fenris was resistant, but they needed someone who could get them information, and his respect for the dwarf finally won out.

It was agreed that Merrill would go talk to him and explain everything, leaving by the old tunnels that led from Hawke’s cellars down into Darktown. Fenris would have to stay the night.

Again, the elf resisted, asserting his independence, but ultimately he acquiesced. Anders suspected it was only a token protest, anyway. It was obviously dangerous for Fenris to be exposed to his old master in his present state and part of Fenris was deeply afraid of falling under the magister’s thrall.

That, and he was already under Anders’ thrall. The mage tried to avoid looking at him - to avoid indicating how much he wanted Fenris to stay close - to stop his own desires, or Justices, becoming Fenris’s by default. But at the same time, even avoiding him was sign enough that the connection between them still existed. That Anders was drawn to him in a way he was trying to resist.

Eventually Fenris asked Anders to order him to stay, and the mage had reluctantly done so, adding that he should only remain in Hawke’s house for as long as it was safe to do so. If Danarius were to attack, he didn’t want to have inadvertently forced Fenris to stay and be enslaved.

That night, Anders found it difficult to sleep. When he did drift off, his dreams were full of Fenris.

Licking Fenris. Running his tongue along the glowing lines of lyrium, the taste metallic and salty, magic thrumming between them, skin to skin.

He dreamt of Fenris taking him again, the elf’s cock filling his mouth, the tattoos along its underside warm, almost burning to touch. And the length slipping down his throat, moving in and out, slowly at first, then faster. Then Fenris lacing his fingers in Anders hair, gripping his head, and taking control. Pounding his throat. Using him. And how wonderful it felt to be used. Justice’s need overwhelming.

And then Justice was there, too, his figure ghostly in appearance, as it had been in the Fade when they had first met, but not in the armour that had made his form then. He was naked. His appearance an amalgamation of Anders’ own face and that of Kristoff, the dead warden whose body Justice had been forced into by the Baroness – although fortunately lacking the horrors of decomposition that had been with Justice at the end.

He first became aware of Justice’s presence as hands grasped him by the hips, the fingers tingling against his flesh. Still with Fenris in his mouth, the hands pulled at him to present his buttocks, and he felt those ghostly fingers exploring his hole, teasing it, slipping in and out. In his dream, there was no need for lubrication, his arsehole seemed already moist and warm in preparation.

As Justice’s penis thrust inside him, it felt as though his own cock were encased in something warm and tight.

 _Of course_ , he thought, _Justice is me, and I am Justice_.

He moaned into Fenris’s cock, incredibly turned on by the idea that, from a certain point of view, he was fucking himself.

Then, as Justice began to build a steady rhythm in his arse, Fenris resumed his pounding of Anders’ throat. Spitted between them, Anders felt incredibly good. So good. To be used by the spirit and a man who was barely his friend. And to feel the warm tightness of his own arse around his cock, rocking to the rhythm of Justice’s penetration. Building and building until finally, they all came together.

Fenris like a torrent down his throat, laced with burning lyrium.

Justice filling his arse with seed of the Fade, tingling and rushing up inside him.

And his own come into the air below him.

In that moment, he awoke, his hand around his throbbing penis, the inside of the covers damp with his spunk.

 _That was disgusting_ , came Justice’s thought into his still dazed mind.

 _It’s_ your _obsession with Fenris_ , Anders thought back.

 _You do not wish to be used in such a fashion_.

Anders snorted. _Maybe I do, a bit_.

Rolling over to see Hawke on his other side, Anders was relieved to find his lover still asleep. But he knew there would be no more sleep for him tonight.

Carefully levering himself out of bed, Anders went to clean up and find some other way to occupy his mind.


	13. Anders has a suggestion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke wakes to find Anders gone from his bed, driven to distraction by Justice's yearning for the lyrium in Fenris's tattoos. As the day progresses, Anders gets steadily worse. Finally, when they are alone again, Anders suggests a solution, but it's not one Hawke will like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual tension and angst, two of my favourite things...

Hawke awoke to an empty space beside him.

The gap at the top of the curtain showed it was still dark out. He pulled himself out of bed and padded to the door in bare feet.

Outside on the landing, he could see a dim orange glow coming from the library. _Oh, Anders_.

He made his way quietly across the space. Anders was in the upper part of the library, seated at what had become ‘his’ desk. His leg was bouncing at a frantic rhythm and he was scribbling on a piece of paper, utterly engrossed and oblivious to Hawke’s presence.

“Anders,” he called softly from the staircase, “What are you doing?”

Anders started as though shaken awake from a dream. “Hawke,” he gasped, a hand going to his chest. “I didn’t hear you.”

“What are you doing up?” Hawke asked again, crossing over to him.

“I’m just…” Anders said, looking still only half awake. “I’m just working on my ma–” he looked down at the papers in front of him and his eyes widened. He scrabbled to flip them over. “My manifesto,” he said more firmly. “I was working on my manifesto.”

It wasn’t even a good lie. Anders had finished his manifesto more than a year ago. Although he still wrote reams and reams: letters to other mages – in the Circle, in the mage underground – to mage sympathisers, as well as acres of notes, pamphlets, theories, and Maker knew what else. But not his manifesto, not anymore.

Hawke reached over him and turned the papers back right-side up.

They were drawings. They seemed strange, abstract doodles at first, oddly familiar. And then he realised: the languidly curving lines of Fenris’s tattoos. Over and over again.

When he met Anders’ eyes he read both guilt and surprise. “I’m sorry,” Anders said. “I didn’t… I sat down to do some kind of work. I thought, if Justice could focus on something else…” His laugh was fragile. “I guess he can’t.”

Hawke drew Anders to him, putting a hand to his hair, and held him. “It’s OK,” he said, rubbing Anders’ arm. “We’ll get through this.” He smiled. “I guess I should be glad you weren’t drawing him naked or writing ‘I heart Fenris’ over and over again.”

Anders laughed weakly, but his foot had resumed its incessant tapping.

Hawke slid down so that his arm was around Anders’ waist and ran a hand along his thigh. He was pleased to hear Anders gasp. He began rubbing gently back and forth, and Anders’ leg quietened down, but he could still feel the tension in it.

“Tell me what I can do,” he whispered.

Anders bent down and kissed his head. “I don’t think there’s anything you can do, love.” 

Hawke looked up and found Anders’ lips with his own. Soft and giving, a pleasing contrast to the rasp of stubble that brushed against his cheeks and chin. He flicked his tongue out and Anders’ mouth opened to let him inside. Their tongues touched, briefly, and he felt a thrill that went down to his groin. He sucked gently on Anders’ top lip, feeling the answering pressure of the mages bottom lip closing on his. And then they parted.

“Come back to bed,” Hawke said, looking up into Anders’ amber eyes.

He sighed and looked away. Shook his head.

“I can’t sleep; it’s no good.”

“We don’t have to sleep,” said Hawke, brushing his hand lightly over Anders’ thigh.

Another shake of the head. “Sorry, I–” His mouth twisted and he made a pained sound. “Hawke, you know I love you. I–I never thought I would have this kind of relationship again. You drive me to distraction sometimes; it’s just… right now…”

“Right now you want Fenris,” Hawke finished for him.

“Don’t put it like that,” Anders pleaded. “Don’t put it like that.”

 _How else should I put it?_ He wanted to scream, but bit it back. What was that point. It wasn’t Anders’ fault. Pressing the matter would only make them both feel worse, and that was the opposite of what he’d been trying to do.

“Alright,” he said finally. “OK. I’ll stay up with you, then. A game of cards?”

“Hawke,” Anders protested. “You should sleep. What if Danarius–?”

“I’m up now, Anders,” he said, firmly. _As if I could sleep when you’re out here, thinking of him_. “Come on. Wicked Grace. Just you and me.”

Anders raised his eyebrows. “You’ll slaughter me, the way I am now.”

Hawke forced a grin. “That’s the idea.”

***

They played until they heard the first stirrings of movement down in the kitchen, before sneaking back to their room to dress.

Anders had been inclined to skip breakfast, wanting to avoid the chance of sitting down too closely to Fenris, but Hawke insisted, and saw that Orana provided a full spread of both hot food and cold.

“Eat,” he said. “There’s enough going on, I won’t have you wasting away. A good meal will help ground you.”

Anders looked unconvinced, but helped himself freely to the bacon and eggs nonetheless. He still had the appetite of a Grey Warden, after all, and the nervous energy and sleepless night had done nothing to quench it.

Fenris came in just as Anders was finishing, and Hawke saw them both stiffen as they caught one another’s eyes.

“Good morning,” Fenris said, easing into a chair at the opposite end of the table from Anders.

Anders nodded, then grabbed a pear. “I’ll, umm, I’ll eat this in the library,” he said, and dashed away.

Hawke caught a little sadness in Fenris’s eyes as he watched him go. “Is it very difficult for him?” he asked, quietly.

“He’ll manage,” said Hawke.

Fenris nodded curtly and began loading food onto his plate. “It’s not easy,” he said, after a moment. “To find sympathy, when he has such control over me. But I’m not blind. And I know it’s not his fault. And that’s not just…” he cleared his throat. “I don’t think it’s because he wants me to understand. Either. I get the impression he expects me to blame him.” 

Hawke stayed silent, not sure what to say.

“I’m actually alright,” he said. “Most of the time. Now he’s getting… better. At telling me what to do. I mean,” he put his knife down, pursed his lips, and shook his head. “I’m not alright. I’m furious. And when I think–” he closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. “But that’s not the point. That’s… memories. That’s anger. That’s Danarius. What I mean is that the spell doesn’t tug at me, the way it does at him. Not if he’s told me what to do and I know I’m doing it. It pulls at him, doesn’t it? At Justice.”

Hawke nodded. “He was up half the night. But that’s not your fault.”

“I know that,” Fenris said, levelly. The barest hint of irritation in his voice. But then added: “If I can make it easier. Keep out of his way. Stay in your guest room – whatever - I’ll try to.”

“Thank you,” Hawke said. “I think that would help.”

***

By the time Merrill arrived with Varric, Anders had taken to pacing restlessly about the library.

“You’re making me dizzy, Blondie,” Varric said, as Merrill was showing him the weapon and trying to explain what the runes meant.

“Sorry, sorry,” Anders replied. He tried to sit down, but his foot was soon tapping frantically against the floor in a way that was equally distracting.

After a couple of minutes of this, Hawke crossed to him, took one of his hands, and kissed it. “Anders,” he began.

“I know, I know,” Anders said. “I can’t stop, I’m sorry. I’ll, umm, I’ll go upstairs. I’m not really any use here at the moment anyway.”

He pushed past Hawke and was gone.

“He’s getting worse, isn’t he?” Merrill said in hushed tones once they heard him going up the stairs. “A lot worse than yesterday.”

Hawke made a non-committal noise, unable to deny it, but equally unwilling to say it out-loud.

***

After Merrill and Varric left, Hawke went immediately to their room.

He found Anders with pencil and paper, resting on the nightstand, drawing. His foot tap-tap-tapping away.

“Anders,” he said, softly, not wanting to startle him.

“Mmm?” Anders mumbled, then dragged his eyes away from the gently curving line his hand was tracing. “Oh, Hawke,” he said, his eyes slow to recognition, but seeming relieved to see him.

Hawke sat tiredly on the bed and looped an arm around Anders’ waist.

Anders stilled his leg and put the pencil down – a slow, deliberate gesture. Then he turned to Hawke and laid a hand on his neck. “I wanted to ask you something,” he said.

“Anything,” Hawke replied.

The ghost of a smile curved Anders lips. “Don’t be too hasty to say that. You won’t like it.”

Hawke reached up and laid his hand over Anders’ hand, before pulling it away and away and kissing the palm. “If it’s something that will help, I’ll try almost anything.”

Anders laughed uneasily. “This might be the ‘almost’.” He took a deep breath. “I think,” he said. “I think I might need to sleep with Fenris again.”

Hawke stared at him. “No.”

Anders closed his eyes. “I know, but I can’t even think right now. I’m completely useless to you, and I know I’m driving everyone mad. Yesterday… yesterday I could cope. Justice wasn’t pulling at me all the time. And–”

“And you and Fenris more or less raped each other,” Hawke said, flint in his voice.

Anders flinched. “I told you, Hawke, it wasn’t like that.”

“You told me that neither of you was in control. That Justice’s needs took over Fenris and then they took over you. And while _I know_ ,” Hawke said, holding up a hand to stop the objection he could see forming on Anders’ lips, “that it isn’t really Justice’s fault either, that doesn’t change the fact that the two of you in a room together are _not capable of consent_.”

Anders groaned and rested his head on Hawke’s shoulder. “I don’t know what else to do,” he said. “I’m afraid at some point I’ll stop pacing about and tapping and drawing and I’ll just… I’ll just go for him anyway. I don’t want _that_.”

Hawke wrapped him in his arms and held him.

“I consent _now_ ,” Anders whispered to Hawke. “Believe me, this is not what I want to be saying to you in the best of all worlds. But it is what I want. Please.”

He stroked his hair and closed his eyes. This was not good. Not good in any way, shape, or form. “Alright,” he said, at last. “ _I_ will ask Fenris. And you will not be there. Nor anywhere near there. I will lock you in this sodding room. And _if_ he says ‘yes’ – _if_ – then I’ll be there too.”

Anders sat up at that. “You’ll…?”

“Be there,” Hawke finished for him. “And if at any point _either_ of you do _anything_ I think for a moment the other doesn’t want, I’ll shut you down. If I have to punch you in the cock, I’ll do it.”

Anders couldn’t help but laugh at that. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly.”

“What, are you just going to… watch us?”

Hawke looked at him, exasperated. “No, Anders, I don’t particularly want to stand back and watch as you fuck my ex.”

“So, you want to…” Anders raised an eyebrow, “partake?”

Hawke blushed. “Yes,” he said, going for firm, but embarrassed to hear his voice break. “U-unless that’s not something that either you or Fenris wants. In which case, however awkward it might be, I’ll… I’ll watch.” He could feel the heat all over his cheeks and neck now, but he looked at Anders resolutely.

“And punch me in the cock,” Anders said, fighting to keep a smile off his face.

“If that’s what it takes.”

Anders snorted and pulled him in for a kiss. When it broke, the mage’s hand lingered in his hair. “I thought you weren't into threesomes... foursomes.”

“Anders,” he said, with a note of warning. But he melted as the warm nose of his lover nuzzled along the edge of his ear and he shuddered with pleasure.

“I won’t neglect you,” Anders surprised him by whispering earnestly. “I imagine it will get… intense. But I won’t neglect you. I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you don’t know you can keep,” Hawke said, but his voice was soft, not condemning. When Anders sat back to look at him, he went on, “It’s OK. I don’t imagine that I will be having the best sex ever. I-I just want… to make sure you’re safe. That both of you are safe.”

“And you’ll stop us,” Anders said. “If you’re not sure.”

“Yes,” Hawke said.

“OK.”


	14. Fenris has some thoughts about sleeping with Anders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Left alone all morning, Fenris sits with Hawke's mabari and puzzles through a book on spirits and demons. When Hawke comes to him with a proposition, they have a lot to talk about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to trivialsins for making me think more about how Fenris would react to Hawke asking him to sleep with Anders. I confess, I had wanted to get straight to the sexy times, but I realised this was a chance to explore how the situation affects Fenris, given his past with Hawke. It also provided an opportunity to delve further into what all this is doing to Justice...

Fenris had remained in Hawke’s guest bedroom since breakfast. He was relieved to find he felt none of the discomfort of the previous morning. Anders had instructed him to stay in the house, and he had.

Continuing to remain in the house was a command he could follow without further instruction. The fact that Anders had made it clear he did not want Fenris’s company soothed the part of him that had come to snag against his consciousness whenever it felt that his master might have needs Fenris was not fulfilling.

His master.

Try as he might, he could not prevent the thought from popping into his mind. He had come to an uneasy truce with it. He could view it at a distance, as something the spell was trying to make him feel, rather than his own thought. _The spell_ made part of him worry as though he had a master whose needs he should be fulfilling.

But Anders was not his master, and he did not _want_ to fulfil Anders’ needs. The spell just made it seem that way. The spell thought Anders was his master.

Yet, a dark, traitorous part of him observed that he was watching and caring for Anders as though some new bond had formed between them. _Because he is your master_ , that part whispered. And he would shake his head and turn the thought away.

Useless to think like that. Especially as Anders didn’t want it. He clung to that as well. If Anders did not want to act like his master, then Fenris should not behave as though he were, regardless of the truth.

So. He had accepted that Anders did not want his company and had retreated to this room and sat on the bed with a small stack of books.

 _As though I shall get through more than one_ , he snorted, flipping through the pages of _My First Guide to Spirits and Demons_ , which he guiltily found he preferred for its garishly coloured blue and red pictures.

After a while, Hawke’s Mabari found him and jumped onto the bed, knocking over his small pile of books and nuzzling into his side.

“Arf!” the mabari barked, licking his face.

Fenris found it hard maintain his usual stern face under the pressure of Dogger’s excitable affection.

“Alright, dog,” he said, working his fingers at the wrinkles in Dogger’s forehead. “Settle down. Perhaps you and I will learn something.”

Somehow he felt less foolish sounding out the words in the dog’s company.

The primer was full of many words that were longer and more difficult than those in the books he had worked through with Hawke, yet he found once he began to sound them out they were familiar enough to guess.

“Ab…” he began with one especially long and thorny one, then grunted with recognition. “Abomination,” he said to Dogger. “This one will be ‘abomination’.” He sounded it out for confirmation, and although the ending gave him trouble, he was sure he was right. “We will remember that these letters together sound like ‘shun’, and not at all how they are written,” he said to the dog, who seemed to have been looking as attentively at the book as himself, and barked in what sounded like agreement.

Just then he heard movement in the corridor outside. Anders, pacing again. He seemed to have walked the whole house several times in the course of the morning.

As he passed Fenris’s open door he stared resolutely ahead, not acknowledging the elf. He looked drawn and pale, and Dogger whined with concern to see him.

Fenris patted the dog’s side. “He will be alright,” he said, with greater certainty than he felt.

Dogger had licked his face, then, and they went back to reading.

Fenris had other visitors that morning, as well as the dog. Varric and Merrill stopped by on their way up from the tunnels below Hawke’s house.

Although it was good to have company, Fenris was relieved when they left. Their pity made him uncomfortable, and he had no desire to speak at any length about his current circumstance. Fortunately, Varric seemed to understand, ushering Merrill out the door pointing and out that they should find Hawke.

It was some time later, after Varric and Merrill had waved farewell in passing, that Hawke came to see him.

He seemed uncharacteristically hesitant, and after Dogger’s initial, enthusiastic greeting, he persuaded the mabari to go away.

“Go on, boy,” he said. “Go bother Orana; I know she has something nice for you in the kitchen.”

The dog looked uncertainly back at Fenris, but the temptation of something in the kitchen appeared to be too much.

“Hi,” said Hawke to Fenris, closing the door behind him.

“Hello,” Fenris said, putting his book down in what he now realised was quite a large mess of mabari hair. He guiltily wondered if the animal was allowed on the bed, then decided he didn’t care.

“How are you, Fenris?” Hawke asked. “I’m sorry you’ve had to keep in here. Anders is in my room, now. So.” He waved a hand, but didn’t finish his thought.

“How is he?” Fenris asked.

“He’s… been better,” Hawke said, non-committally. “Listen, Fenris,” he went on, coming over to sit next to him on the bed. He cleared his throat. “Ah, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

A warm red blush bloomed on Hawke’s pale skin and Fenris looked at him more closely. This was more than just the general stress Hawke had shown the last two days. Hawke was upset. And he was nervous about something. Something he was embarrassed but determined to share with Fenris.

“Go on,” Fenris said, finding in himself a surprising sense of calm, risen out of hours spent reading and petting the mabari, resigned to the fact that there was very little he could do until Hawke got to the bottom of whatever was next.

Hawke was blushing furiously, now, steadfastly avoiding Fenris’s gaze. “Look, Fenris, this is awkward, but I need to know. Would you… would you ever consider sleeping with Anders again?”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. He had not been expecting that question. “Are you asking whether I would force myself on him?”

Hawke’s eyes widened and he waved his hands in denial. “Maker – no! I know you would never… I understand that what happened before wasn’t your fault. It’s just – ah… how do I put this?” Hawke’s mouth twisted. “I mean… willingly. Would you ever be _willing_ to sleep with him again?”

“It’s… not something I was considering. Why, Hawke?” he said, frowning. “Is this something Anders wants?”

Hawke groaned. “I-I don’t want to answer that just yet. I need to know…” he licked his lips, considering his words, “I need to know whether it’s something you’d be willing to do, without thinking about what Anders wants for now.”

Something slotted into place. “Because you don’t want me to feel obliged.”

“Yes,” said Hawke.

“Because it _is_ what Anders wants,” Fenris pressed.

Hawke groaned and put his head in his hands. “This was… this is the worst of all possible ideas.”

“Perhaps if you told me _why_ you are asking, I’d be able to give you a better answer.”

Hawke peered at him through his fingers, then closed his eyes. “The more I tell you, the less your answer will actually be your own.”

Fenris drummed his fingers on his book, thinking. “Not necessarily. I’ve actually… done a lot of thinking today. I may not know as much about blood magic as Merrill, or as much about spirits as Anders, but I have had some thoughts. Anyway,” he said. “You really can’t ask me to tell you whether I’d sleep with your lover unless you tell me whether he’s willing. That does matter to me, Hawke. However it might have seemed the other night.”

Hawke sat up, thinking through what Fenris had said. “He’s… _willing_ ,” Hawke said, eventually.

Fenris nodded, thoughtfully. “But it’s what _Justice_ desires.”

Hawke looked pained. “Don’t make me answer that.”

Fenris sighed. “Hawke, I may be _influenced_ by what that thing wants, but you simply telling me what it wants is not the same as a command. You could tell me Justice wanted me to stand on my head, that doesn’t mean I’d just go and do it. You could be lying. Or you could be wrong. I don’t have to obey you.”

Hawke looked at him uneasily. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, Hawke, I’m sure,” Fenris said, dryly. “So let us go back to my first question. _How is_ Anders? I have seen him pacing about.”

Resignation sat in the droop of Hawke’s broad shoulders. “He’s not good,” he said. “He can’t concentrate on anything. If he’s not pacing up and down he’s fidgeting. Or he’s drawing.”

Fenris frowned. “Drawing?”

Hawke gestured at him. “Your tattoos. Over and over again. Like he’s in a trance. That’s probably what he’s doing right now. He can’t concentrate on anything else and it’s getting worse.”

“And you think sleeping with me will help?”

Hawke winced. “Did Merrill tell you her theory?”

Fenris frowned and shook his head.

“Well,” Hawke began, “when… you know. When… when you and Anders,” he gestured vaguely, resolutely looking away from Fenris. “It was… oral sex, I guess?”

“Uh,” Fenris said, the heat rising in his own cheeks, unsure how to respond.

“And Anders… swallowed?”

“Oh,” said Fenris, finding his voice suddenly at a much higher register than normal. “He, uh, discussed that with _Merrill_?”

“Not in detail, I don’t think,” Hawke said hastily. “He asked her why Justice was quiet yesterday and she… she asked why there was enchanted lyrium in his stomach.”

Fenris stared at him. “I see.”

“Yeah.” Hawke went on. “Merrill thinks Justice was quiet because he was… occupied.”

“With…?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

Of all the discussions Fenris had ever imagined having, with, well, anyone… “And Justice wants to sleep with me so that…?”

“Oh,” said Hawke. “No. At least. I don’t think so. Anders told me Justice doesn’t really understand sex. He wants to be near you because you feel like the Fade. And yesterday it felt like there was a little patch of the Fade… inside Anders. But I don’t think he’s thought about it in quite those terms. It was Anders’ idea to, well, distract Justice. So he can think. Anders I mean. So he stops… obsessing over you. For a while.”

It was a lot to take in. And he wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to. Fenris tried not to think about the spirit obsessing over his ejaculate.

“But you _don’t have to_ , Fernis. I told him that,” Hawke was saying. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you, while he wasn’t here. So you could decide. Freely. And…” Hawke looked away, the heat in his cheeks again. “And because, frankly, this whole situation… well. It’s not enough even then. Sex, it shouldn’t…”

“Hawke, it’s OK,” Fenris said softly. “I’ll do it.”

“No, Fenris,” Hawke said. “I haven’t finished yet.”

“ _Hawke_ ,” he said. “I saw him today. I know what he’s doing for me. He could have taken advantage of me, and he hasn’t. Not even when I was taking advantage of him.”

“That was _Justice_ ,” Hawke said, bitterly. And Fenris heard in Hawke’s voice some of the anger that had once been directed at him.

“All the more reason to help Anders get him under control,” Fenris said, levelly.

Hawke’s lips drew into a thin line. “You won’t be in control. Neither of you.” He wasn’t blushing now. He looked directly at Fenris. “That’s why I’ll be there.” The direct look spoke defiance, expecting Fenris’s challenge.

“Will you now?” Fenris said.

“You can still say no,” Hawke went on. “But if you do want to do this, I will be there. And if either of you hurts the other, I will stop it. If you do anything he doesn’t want. Or if he tries to force you… Maker save him.”

Fenris looked at him thoughtfully, there was something arousing in Hawke’s protectiveness. And something infuriating. He moved closer to Hawke across the bed. “And what will you be doing, Hawke, while I’m fucking your lover?” His face close to Hawke’s now, his voice was half challenge, half purr.

Hawke’s breath quickened, his gaze jumping back and forth between Fenris’s eyes. “I’ll be with you, if you’ll have me,” he said, his breath on Fenris’s cheek.

Fenris moved forward, his lips on Hawke’s open mouth, brushing Hawke’s top lip, sucking it, his tongue¬–

Hawke pulled away suddenly, stood up. “No, Fenris,” he said. “I’m with Anders now. This is just… I just want to protect you.”

Fenris punched the bed. “But if I’m fucking him, you’ll fuck me, is that it? I guess you get a little of everything out of this.”

“Fenris, no!” Something flashed in his eyes. “Maker’s blood! You didn’t want that! _You_ left _me_.” 

“And you were fast enough to find someone else,” Fenris spat, the hurt and rage he had felt watching Hawke with the mage boiling to the surface.

“Fenris,” Hawke rubbed his face. “I didn’t mean… but Anders was there. And he wanted me. And he needed me. And he was willing to accept my help.” He raised his hands helplessly, then let them sag. “He let me in. I’d have stood by you. I’d have done that if you’d wanted it. But you didn’t.”

Fenris looked away from the grief he saw in Hawke’s face, blinking back the sting in his eyes. He knew Hawke was right. He’d been a fool. He’d walked away from him, and Hawke had begged him to stay. But he couldn’t. He hadn’t been ready. It had been too much.

The bed next to him sagged with Hawke’s weight, and he could feel the heat of the other man, close to him. “I’m sorry, Fenris. This was a bad idea. I should never have suggested it. We’ll find another way. I’ll lock Anders in my room if I have to.”

But Fenris knew that wouldn’t work. “No, Hawke. A door won’t hold that demon if Anders loses control of it.”

Hawke sighed. “Fenris, I know how you feel, but… Justice isn’t a demon, and Anders-”

Fenris shook his head. “No, Hawke, I know that.” He brushed the moistness from his eyes and looked up into Hawke’s astonishment. “I told you. I have been reading, and thinking, and I have been watching Anders.”

He picked up the slender volume from the bedspread and flipped to the passage he had marked. “‘Two types of being live in the Fade: Spirits and Demons’” he read, “Spirits care nothing for… mortals,” he stumbled over the word, but kept moving. He had read this passage over and over with Dogger, first puzzling out its words, then thinking threw its implications. “‘They embody the virtues and desire nothing. Demons embody our sins and wish to possess us, to bend us to their will. If a mage should let a demon in and allow it to control them, they shall become an abomination.’” He felt some small smugness at managing the word without stumbling. The look on Hawke’s face was satisfying.

“Your reading has come on,” he said.

Fenris shrugged. “There was nothing else to do. Anyway, that’s not the point. I have seen Justice in possession of Anders, and I did think him a demon. He controlled the man and wreaked havoc upon other mortals. But always to the same goal.”

“Mage rights,” said Hawke.

Fenris’s mouth twisted, but he acquiesced: “Just so. I may not have agreed with it, but the cause Anders fights for, I cannot deny that Justice embodies it. It may not be what I would call just, but it is not driven by whim or desire. But now… now Justice desires something. Me.” It was uncomfortable to air these thoughts, but as he spoke them, he felt surer of his reasoning. “He desires me and he wishes to possess me.”

“You’re saying, what?” Hawke frowned. “You think Justice is becoming a desire demon?”

Fenris frowned. “Perhaps. But Anders resists him. I know I have called him ‘abomination’, but these past few days… Anders does not allow Justice to control him. He ignores me. He refuses to command me. He… paces about.”

“But,” said Hawke. “Before. Two nights ago. When you…”

Fenris shrugged. “I am not a mage. This book… I know it is not a weighty text. But perhaps it is as you say. Justice was not interested in sex. He was confused. He knew he was drawn to me, but not what would happen. Now he knows. Now he wants it. Eventually, he will try to take it, and if Anders cannot control him, he will truly be an abomination.”

Hawke stared at him.

“So, yes,” Fenris said, “Anders is right. He needs to do what he can to control Justice now, before it is too late. If this will help, I will do it.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “Did you just say ‘Anders is right’?”

Fenris smirked. “And it will be part of our deal that you never tell him.”


	15. Everything comes together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Hawke help Anders with his problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How to summarise this chapter... smut. It's the smut. Good old fashioned three/four-way smut. The sex. Sexing is here.
> 
> Apologies for the delay putting this one up. Having been dying to write Teh Sex for these three for weeks, I suddenly dried up. *Simply* writing sex didn't seem that interesting. But late last night I found a way in. Hope you like.

Everything was blue. And throbbing. He was barely conscious of the pencil in his hand, scraping lead imitations of everything he wanted and needed out into the world, as though it might bring them closer to him.

But when he traced the lines with his fingers, it wasn't enough.

He fumbled for a new piece of paper and started again, already knowing it was fruitless.

It was not enough. It would never be enough.

This was not the Fade. This was not the little piece of home that had sung to him and filled him for one glorious day.

Not even that long. Not even that.

And these lines were dead. They were nothing.

They were lead.

There was a ringing in his ears and a noise like the ocean.

It was not the song of lyrium.

It was the emptiness, the absence of everything he wanted. Needed.

Desired.

“Anders.”

A voice cutting through the noise. Suddenly surrounding him with silence as though he had become deaf.

He cupped his hands to his ears. Patted them. Normal.

Gradually, the blue receded.

He turned his head.

“Hawke,” he said, meeting blue eyes that had once reminded him of the fade, but felt so completely different now.

Grounding.

Hawke’s hand was on his shoulder, and he leant in and kissed Anders’ forehead.

“Yes, I’m here,” the other man whispered.

Anders sagged against him in relief.

“I couldn’t hear anything,” he said, his voice breathy and panicked. “I could hear everything. I can’t feel him in the lines.”

Hawke drew Anders’ head against his stomach and cradled it there. “It’s OK. I’m here. It’s going to be OK.” He heard the choked sound in his lover’s voice and felt washed with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m back with you, now. I’m back with you.”

Hawke dropped down beside him and met his eyes. “I talked to Fenris,” he said.

Anders shivered. The memory of lyrium and the sound of the Fade crashed against him once more. He looked up, around their room, looking for the elf, hoping…

Hawke’s hand on the back of his neck commanded his attention again.

“He’ll do it,” Hawke said. “Fenris said he’d do it.”

Anders stared. “He…” He looked around the room. The elf still wasn’t here. His legged twitched. He should go find him. He should go find Fenris.

“I’ll get him,” Hawke said, pulling Anders’ face more firmly back to look at his, “But I need to know you remember what we talked about before. Anders, please, tell me you remember.”

Anders closed his eyes, tried to fight the blue fog that was rising in his brain again. His heel began tapping against the floor as he resisted the urge to go find the elf right now, to not miss a moment closing the distance between them.

“I won’t do anything he doesn’t want,” he said at last. “I’ll make sure Justice doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want.”

“And if I you try to?” Hawke asked.

Anders remembered then, and smiled. “You’ll punch me in the cock.”

Hawke kissed him then, and he returned it. Leaning into the other man’s scent, letting it fill him, remind him who was his home.

Hawke pulled away and cleared his throat, still cupping Anders’ cheeks in his hands. “I, umm, I won’t actually punch you in the cock,” he said, awkwardly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I will stop you, though.”

Anders rolled his eyes. “Hawke, I know. I knew what you meant.”

“Good,” said Hawke. “I just felt like… there’s enough going on already that’s… not good. That’s… that’s not what sex should be. You should never think your lover might do something like that.”

“Hawke,” Anders said, looking deeply into his eyes. “If either Justice or me gets out of control, you do whatever it takes, OK?”

“OK,” Hawke said. “I just… there are other ways to stop you without hurting you… there.”

Anders groaned. “Hawke.”

“Right.”

“Where’s Fenris?” he said, and then cursed himself for how easily his mind had slipped back to that track.

“He’s waiting, just outside,” Hawke said. “I’ll get him.” He stood up to go, but Anders caught his hand.

“Thank you,” he said, sincerely. “And I meant what I said, too. I won’t neglect you.”

Hawke sighed, kissed his hand, then let it go. “It’s OK if you do. That’s not what this is about. There’ll be time for us to be together later when you’re safe and free of this spell.”

And then he was gone, the door closing snugly behind him.

***

When Hawke opened the door again, it was with Fenris just behind him.

Instinct made him want to keep his body between the two men; he forced it down. He could only do so much to protect them from each other.

Fenris stepped in front of him, and moved forward until his tattoos flared. Both he and Anders stiffened.

In more ways than one, Hawke realised, staring at the noticeable bulge in Anders’ tight trousers.

The mage stood, trembling.

Hawke was surprised he didn’t rush to embrace the elf, given how he had looked when Hawke had found him, lost in rapt attention as he furiously scribbled an imitation of Fenris’s markings.

“ _Fenris_ ,” he said, his voice reverberating with that of the spirit within him, though he yet retained his own amber eyes.

“Mage,” Fenris said, though none of the animosity that usually accompanied that word coloured his voice. Hawke could not have said quite what the elf was feeling.

“Hawke says,” Anders said, closing his eyes, his voice becoming more his own for a moment. “Hawke says you want this. Do you?”

Fenris nodded. “Yes.” He took a step forward. “I would like to do this for you. If it would help. If it’s also what you want. Not just your… not only what Justice wants.”

Anders nodded, tears squeezed out of the corners of his eyes. “Yes,” he said, quietly, his voice entirely his own. “Please, Fenris, I can hardly-” he caught himself, rephrased. “If it’s what you want, I would welcome it.”

The elf moved forward quickly, then, Anders’ skin, cracking and glowing at his presence.

Every inch of Hawke wanted to force them apart, urged him this was much too dangerous, that Justice would take over… but it was what they had all agreed. Both men had said they wanted it. And when Fenris reached Anders, whose eyes were still closed, his touch was tender.

He pulled him into an embrace that made the other man gasp, but then he simply held him there, and Anders raised trembling hands to hold him back.

Anders was weeping, now, sobbing against Fenris.

“ _I’ve needed you_ ,” he said, in two voices. “ _I needed to hear your song, but I couldn’t find you_.”

Fenris brought a hand up into Anders’ hair, “I’m here now,” he said, his deep voice rumbling with comfort.

The hand in Anders’ hair eased the mage’s head down to meet his, and their lips met in a kiss.

A hand splitting with blue light pressed into Fenris’s hair and pushed them more firmly together.

Fenris’s other hand brushed at the tears on Anders’ cheeks, and the mage started back, gasping as he came into contact with the thin lines of lyrium that traced across Fenris’s palm and fingers.

Anders’ eyes snapped open, and now they were filled with nothing but blue light.

Justice’s gaze followed the glowing lines down from Fenris’s lips to his neck. The spirit surged forward, pressing Anders’ mouth to the elf’s neck, sucking at the base, Fenris letting out a low moan.

Hawke was almost surprised to feel his own desire rise. So much about this whole situation had seemed so wrong. Too wrong. Not something he had any wish to be a part of save to keep two men he cared deeply about safe.

Yet, as Fenris’s neck arched, the elf responding as Hawke had to ways that Anders had touched him, he couldn’t hold back and simply watch any longer. He crossed to them, his right arm wrapping around Fenris’s waist, his left reaching up to Anders’ neck, pulling all three of them closer together.

Feeling Fenris’s hand move down from Anders’ hair to lace their fingers together, holding Anders in their grasp as the mage panted into Fenris’s neck.

And then Hawke felt Anders' hand grasp his flesh, too. Reaching down, squeezing his buttock, rubbing the round curve of his arse, letting Hawke feel through the trace of his fingers how much his lover desired him, enjoyed his shape.

The hand reached up under the fabric of his shirt, caressing the small of his back. His skin tingled now as he, too, felt Justice’s glow as a stirring contact on his own skin.

Justice had never been a part of sex for him and Anders. But he was here now. And it might be that Justice had eyes only for Fenris, but Anders was as good as his word. Hawke was not here simply to watch and protect them as Anders had his way with the elf. Anders still wanted him, wanted him to be a part of this.

***

Fenris gasped as he felt Hawke embrace him from behind, Hawke’s breath on his ear, Hawke’s hand on his waist, rubbing against the taut muscles of his abdomen, skirting lower towards where his penis was already growing hard.

When Anders released the skin of his neck from the warmth of his mouth, Fenris laced his fingers with Hawke’s and pulled the mage down again, forcing him closer, feeling the hot bulge of Anders’ cock against his, their stomachs pressed together around Hawke’s hand; Hawke pressing in from behind, his member hardening against Fenris’s butt cheeks.

Fenris gloried at being sandwiched between them. He had never felt so desired.

Then Hawke’s hand was wriggling between their abs, working to undo the laces of his leggings even as Anders was working at his neck. The apostate’s tongue _pressed_ into his skin, shocks jumping between his markings and the power that thrummed within Anders.

He freed his hand from Hawke’s and pushed the mage back against the wall, taking himself and Hawke with him, the pressure of their momentum driving them deliciously together again: Hawke and Anders pressed against his body in front and behind.

But again, he needed space. Hawke had worked the lacings enough to free Fenris’s cock, and now Fenris needed to do the same for Anders – yearned to take the apostate in his mouth, his hands, his hole.

He stripped the man of his belt in three swift movements and ripped downwards, relishing the ease with which the man’s clothes tore. He didn’t need to call on his brands for strength. Every inch of his body hummed with it. He felt like he could thrust the mage straight through the wall if he wanted.

But no, he didn’t want that. Instead he looked into Anders’ eyes, which stuttered between blue and brown, but read in both naked need. He pulled the mage’s head down and kissed him roughly as he thrust at the tattered remains of the man’s trousers, freed his arse, and grasped at the firm flesh there to force them together.

His penis, now free and fully hard from Hawke’s ministrations, rubbed intoxicatingly at Ander’s own erect cock. He whimpered as the press of bodies forced them together, the two cocks caught between him and Anders.

Then Hawke’s hands were on his arse, fingers kneading at the hard muscles, finding his crack, spreading him apart. Cool liquid dribbled down him, Hawke’s fingers working it at his entrance as Anders was biting down on the place where his neck met his shoulder, moaning into him.

One warm, inquisitive finger pressed against his entrance. Worked into him. Teased in and out of him.

He stepped back into Hawke’s hands, his own hand reaching down and working along the length of Anders’ cock.

Anders moaned, reaching down and stroking Fenris’s own, feeling along the underside where the wicked lines of lyrium flared.

Usually, Fenris hated those marking most of all. They caused discomfort and pain even when fighting, the sensitive skin recalling abuse, irritated by the invader in his flesh. But now, under Anders’ ministrations, he felt only pleasure, overtaken by the intensity of their mixed magics humming together.

“ _I need you in me_ ,” Anders and Justice whispered in one voice that was two, just as Hawke worked a second finger up inside Fenris’s arsehole.

He cried out, arching against Hawke.

“Maker!” he gasped, unable to compose any further thought.

He wanted to be in Anders, too. Wanted to throw Anders upon the bed and pin up his legs, hold him ready and thrust into his warm, tight arse. But he knew that wasn’t how this could go.

Taking a shuddering breath to steady himself, he pressed his hands on Anders’ shoulders, forcing him to his knees. He ached to experiment, to dominate Anders in any way he could, but that wasn’t why they were here. It’s wasn’t-

Hawke worked a third finger inside him, pressing in and out, stroking inside him, seeking the sweet spot that he knew would make Fenris buck.

He groaned. He had to focus. Had to make sure Anders took him in his mouth. Had to make sure the mage couldn’t just shit his seed straight back out again.

“Suck, mage,” he commanded, feeling a wanton thrill at ordering his master to pleasure him with his mouth.

Just as Anders’ lips closed around his head, Hawke’s fingers left his arse, leaving him feeling empty, but not for long.

Anders stroked forward just as Hawke’s head crested against the waiting rim of his hole and thrust in.

“Ah!” he gasped.

Anders sucked at his cock as Hawke stroked out again. Withdrew. Caressed his head with his tongue, lips moving forward just in time for Hawke’s next thrust to push him deep within Anders’ mouth.

He rocked back with Hawke’s rhythm, Anders’ lips pressing wonderfully against his length as he withdrew, the mage’s hands coming up to caress his sack.

Then Hawke pushed back, this time thrusting fully within him, the hard length filling him up, rubbing against hot spot inside him that made him melt.

His own cock thrust forward, deep into Anders’ throat. For a moment the mage gagged, but then Hawke was pulling back again and Anders hands were steady on Fenris's thighs, taking a hold on them both.

When Hawke thrust again, he felt secure in Anders’ grasp, and the mage took him fully this time, deep down into his throat as he had done before. Fenris could do nothing but whimper as he felt the mage’s hot, wet flesh pressing about him, and Hawkes hard length deep inside.

When Hawke rocked back this time, Anders held them both almost steady, and Fenris put his arms forward against the wall to help take his weight. He felt like he might collapse of pleasure if Anders’ firm hands had not been there against his hips… even as the mage’s thumbs tormented him further by rubbing along the line of lyrium that skirted alongside his pelvis, leading down towards his crotch.

Hawke’s rhythm began to build, then, stroking incessantly against the sensitive spot inside him just as Anders took his own member into and out of his throat, the mage’s tongue rubbing along the underside, his teeth delicately grazing the top, and his mouth sucking, sucking, urging him closer and closer to climax.

Finally, Hawke thrust deeply in and gripped Fenris’s shoulders hard, squeezing him as he climaxed. As though attuned to his lover’s rhythms, the mage bobbed forward at the same time, taking Fenris’s head down into his throat and sucking hard, driving Fenris himself over the line, leaving him spasming, spurting, coming directly down the apostate’s throat.

Anders seemed to glow all over then, the spirit frantically caressing Fenris with his tongue, slurping against him, keen to consume every last drop of lyrium laced come.

As Hawke pulled back from him, he allowed the man to draw him from Anders’ lips, too, though the mage keened with an unnatural noise, and Hawke had to pry his stiff fingers from Fenris’s hips to force his to release.

Finally, he sank to the ground, with Hawke behind him, an arm draped protectively against his chest as they both watched Anders slowly come back to himself.

As the light faded from the apostate, Fenris felt his own brands ease and calm.

Anders was panting now, drooping.

Hawke released Fenris and moved forward to sit by Anders, who sank against him.

“Anders?” Hawke asked. “Are you OK? Did it work?”

The mage nodded against him. “I… yes, I think so. Yes. Oh Hawke.” He buried his face in Hawke’s chest, still panting, but then his eyes turned opened and he looked at Fenris. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you.”

Fenris, uncertain what to do, but wanting to offer comfort, and to feel that closeness again that the three of them has shared, took Anders’ hand and rubbed it softly in his own. “It’s alright, Anders,” he whispered softly. “We’re here,” he said, not knowing quite what he meant, but feeling like it was important.

The mage nodded and closed his eyes again, but he squeezed Fenris’s hand back. They were together. And, for the moment, at least, things were better.


	16. Anders needs a nap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke is surprised and worried by how quickly and solidly Anders falls asleep after sex. He explains to Fenris that this is not normal for his lover and goes to fetch Merrill whilst Fenris explores how his feelings towards Anders have changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that Fenris's thoughts about his responsibility for this situation are not necessarily shared by the author.

They sat together for a short time, sharing something like a companionable silence and sense of relief, but finally Hawke let out a big sigh. “Well, I’ll ask Orana to send a tub up and we’ll get clean, shall we?”

He began to move as though to stand, but stopped as Anders’ weight shifted against him, slumping further down his chest.

“Anders?” Hawke sat back down.

“Mmm,” the mage said, not moving or opening his eyes.

Hawke brushed the hair away from his face. “Hey, Anders, look at me,” Hawke said.

“Mmm,” the mage made the quiet sound again, but otherwise remained oblivious.

Hawke pushed Anders’ shoulders gently back against the wall and held his head straight. “Anders, did you fall asleep so soon?” it sounded as though Hawke was going for a humorous tone, but his worry was clear.

Hawke opened one of the mage’s eyelids and Anders squirmed beneath him, blinking and turning his head away.

“Let me sleep, Hawke,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

“It’s the middle of the day,” Hawke pointed out.

“Good,” the mage said, and curled back against Hawke, closing his eyes.

Hawke stared at Fenris. The elf shrugged. “He was like this before. I assumed that’s just how he was… after.”

Hawke raised his eyebrows. “No, it is not. Why didn’t you say something?”

Fenris shifted uncomfortably, not sure why he was being blamed for Anders wanting to sleep, but Hawke’s concern becoming infectious. “I don’t know. Isabella has said many men fall asleep after sex. I thought – I thought perhaps…”

Hawke’s incredulity was tinged with anger, now. “Fenris, _you_ are a man. Do you mean to tell me you don’t know the difference between feeling a little spent and refusing to wake up?”

Fenris flushed. He didn’t particularly want to explain to Hawke about the peculiarities of his previous sexual experience when his leggings were round his ankles and his lover lay asleep between them. It hadn’t seemed so very strange to him that Anders would be tired. “I just thought…” he said, sheepishly, “I guess I thought maybe it took it out of him.”

“Who, Anders?” Hawke looked down at the man sprawled against him, undisturbed by their raised voices. “Anders can go for _hours_. Maker – he’s a Grey Warden, Fenris. Have you not _heard_ of their stamina?”

“I - well,” Fenris realised he had heard a little something about that before. And from Isabella, no less. She might even have been talking about Anders. “I thought, perhaps… he is a mage, after all, and…”

Hawke rolled his eyes and muttered curses about stupid elves, putting an arm under Anders’ legs and lifting him into the bed.

Anders barely stirred whilst Hawke tucked him in, ran his fingers through his hair, kissed his cheek.

“I’m going to find Merrill,” Hawke said, straightening.

Fenris felt uneasy, and not at all sure Anders would welcome the attention of the blood mage while he was unconscious. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked.

Hawke span round and glared at him. “Yes. Fenris. I am. And you will stay here and watch him. Understand?”

Fenris hunched his shoulders in. “Yes, Hawke,” he said quietly.

“Good,” Hawke replied, curtly, and then he was gone, leaving Fenris alone with the man he had thought he was helping, but had apparently failed again.

He sat down on the bed beside Anders, aware of the reversal of their positions from two days ago, and everything that had happened in between.

He tried to feel the old, familiar anger. The seething hatred for a man who embodied everything he knew to be dangerous. But it seemed as drained as the lyrium glow in his skin, which no longer responded to Anders’ presence, now that Justice was occupied elsewhere.

He laid a hand on Anders’ bare arm. Nothing but dry, warm skin, and the brush of tiny blond hairs. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have realised.”

Anders didn’t respond. Without thinking about what he was doing – or about anything, really – he lay down beside Anders and put his arm across him. Something caught in his chest. Some deep ache of fellow feeling for the man who lay beside him, tied up in a knot of guilt. The spell might have made Anders his master, but in some ways what was happening to the man was far worse.

And he had been so kind. Far kinder than Fenris had ever expected from a mage who’d always seemed to despise his very presence. So careful not to take advantage of the situation; more careful than Fenris had been.

Now that he could see Anders as a man, and not as an abomination – especially as a man with whom he had been intimate, and who had never treated him with anything but respect when they were together like that - he felt an overwhelming urge to protect Anders from what was happening to him. From what Danarius was doing to them.

He felt a flash of anger at the thought of the magister, and pulled Anders more closely to him.

He lay like that for an hour, maybe two, watching Anders and waiting for Hawke to return. The mage didn’t move the whole time; just the gentle rise and fall of his chest under Fenris's arm.

The opening and slamming closed of Hawke’s front door made him start. Fumble off the bed, quickly shucking on the leggings he had neglected to even think of whilst Hawke was away. Fortunately, the size of Hawke’s estate gave him ample time to turn the chair Anders had been using earlier towards the bed and seat himself in it before Hawke and Merrill arrived.

“Is he alright?” Hawke said, breathlessly, as he entered the room.

“The same as when you left,” Fenris said, trying for something between his usual lack of interest and a suitable level of concern.

Hawke seemed to barely hear him anyway, going to Anders’ side and placing a hand on his forehead. “He looks just the same.”

“Let me look at him, Hawke,” Merrill said, from the doorway.

Reluctantly, Hawke moved out the way.

Merrill laid a hand on Anders’ arm, and Fenris’s skin prickled to think that his own hand had rested there not so long ago. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

Both men waited anxiously.

When she opened them again, she looked at Hawke. “I think you’re best to leave him to sleep. It’s what he needs right now.”

“But,” Hawke said, rubbing his hands together. “It’s not normal. The whole point was to help him feel normal again. We need him.”

“No,” Merrill said, her tone firm, but gentle. “You don’t. And what he needs is for you to break this spell before things get any worse.”

Fenris cleared his throat, drawing her attention. “How are they getting worse?” he asked, quietly.

She looked between him and Hawke. “Well, he’s… he’s tied to Justice, isn’t he? And right now, Justice is concentrated deep down inside him.”

Fenris pulled a face. “You mean Anders is also,” he waved his hand uncomfortably, desperately trying not to talk about his sperm with Merrill.

“Oh,” she said. “No. Ander’s is a sleep. He’s not aware of anything Justice is doing. But while Justice is pulling away from his awareness of the world outside, he’s pulling Anders away from that awareness, too. And it really is best if you leave them like that for now.”

“I don’t understand,” said Hawke. “How can this be a good thing?”

Merrill sighed. “It’s not, especially. It’s just better than the alternative. I didn’t realise, before, because he seemed so normal, and I don’t think it was as bad, then, but this whole thing. It’s putting a strain on their bond. Justice is, whether he realises it or not, trying to break away from Anders. He’s trying to do what the spell is telling him to – to merge with Fenris. And it doesn’t help that he was already fascinated with the lyrium in your tattoos. You could try to wake Anders up and keep him awake, but it’d just strain their bond further. He needs to rest, and to follow Justice as much as possible now.”

Fenris felt like the bottom had fallen out of his stomach. Whatever he thought of the bond Justice and Anders shared, there was no way in which Justice pulling away from Anders so that he could possess him, Fenris, was a good thing. “He’s… I… Am I making it worse by being here?” he asked.

“No, actually,” Merrill said, shaking her head. “I think probably a lot of the strain I’m seeing is the result of him staying away from you for so long.” She looked at him with pity that he had to turn away from. “I’m sorry, Fenris. I know you and he - well, I know it’s been difficult. But if you can bear to, it really would be better if you spent as much time with him as possible. Make – make it easier for Justice to be with you without leaving Anders.”

Hawke had closed his eyes. He brushed away some moistness that had gathered there, then turn to Fenris. “You don’t have to,” he said with difficulty, obviously struggling between what was best for Anders and what Hawke thought was right. “I’ll understand if you’d rather not. You’ve already done more than-”

“It’s fine, Hawke,” he said. “I don’t mind. I’ll stay with him.” If only Hawke knew just how much better he felt about the idea that he might stay with Anders and protect him whilst he slept.

Hawke sagged against the bedpost. “Thank you.” His youthful skin suddenly looked ten years older. “I’ll… I’ll find a way to fix this. I swear it.”


	17. Anders wakes up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders is surprised by Fenris's response to his unscheduled nap. Fenris explains what Merrill thinks is happening and has an uncomfortable suggestion as to who they might turn to for help.

Anders woke to the sensation of warm fingers gripping his hand. He looked up and was surprised to find they belonged to Fenris, his green eyes unfocused through locks of white hair, staring pensively at the blank wall on the other side of the room.

“Well,” he said, startling Fenris, the hand twitching in his grasp, but not letting go. “I can’t say this is something I ever expected. What happened? Am I dying?” He joked. _I hope I’m joking, anyway_ , he thought. Fenris’s face remained flat and unreadable.

“You’ve been asleep for four hours,” Fenris said. Anders couldn’t tell from his dry tone if that was meant as concern or disapproval. “Hawke said that was unusual for you. That you generally have more… stamina.”

A slow grin passed over his face and he waggled his eyebrows at Fenris. “I suppose I do. Why, did you want to go again?”

Fenris shifted uncomfortably. “We have been… worried,” he admitted. “Merrill says… Merrill says your dem-” Anders was surprised to hear Fenris correct himself, “your spirit,” he went on, “has been pulling away from you. That whilst it was focusing… inward, it was pulling you down, too.” Fenris looked down. “I am sorry,” he said, quietly. “I thought I was helping.”

Anders tried to sit up in bed, levering himself up with his free hand, but thought better of it as a wave of dizziness passed over him. He lay back down and rubbed his face. “Fenris,” he said, tiredly. “Don’t be ridiculous, what have you got to be sorry about?” 

Fenris scowled. “Because it – Justice – is pulled towards my…” he waved his left hand. “ _Fasta vass_! I should dearly love to not have to keep discussing my… seed, with everyone.”

Anders laughed. “Is that what you’re worried about? Fenris, I asked _you_ to sleep with _me_. I don’t know how you’ve managed to make that your fault, but it’s definitely something we did together, and even if it did make me take a four hour nap, I still can’t see it as a bad thing. I was – I was _completely_ gone before. I needed this. Really.” He ran his thumb over the hand that still gripped his, able to see now that Fenris was genuinely upset.

The elf shook his head. “No, I should have realised before. When you were at the mansion and you wanted to go home, but you were too tired. Hawke is right-”

Anders groaned. “Hawke isn’t right half as often as he thinks he is. But that’s how he gets so much done. He just makes an assumption and acts on it anyway. None of this,” he said, squeezing Fenris’s hand, “is your fault. It’s Danarius’s fault. And you know it. Hawke would know it too if he stopped to think.”

Fenris still wasn’t meeting his eyes. He’d never seen the elf quite so curled in on himself. He’d never seen him be anything but defiant, furious, convinced he was right. This shame and self-doubt was unsettling.

“No,” said Fenris, after thinking through Anders’ words. “I have been waiting for Danarius to come, counting on it. If I weren’t here, none of this would be happening to you. But I wanted my vengeance. It was stupid, and it was selfish.”

“So… what? You should have just kept running away?” Anders said. “I know a thing or two about that. You can’t run away forever.” But Fenris remained hunched in on himself, saying nothing. Anders decided to try to lighten the mood. “But hey – what do you care what happens to me?” He said, nudging Fenris’s hand to try to make him look up. “I thought you hated me. One less abomination roaming the streets of Kirkwall, right?”

“I do not hate you, mage,” Fenris said, quietly, and at first Anders thought he had only succeeded in making the elf retreat further into himself. But then Fenris did look up, the merest hint of a smile on his face. “I think you are a fool, and a dangerous fool at that – if you had your way, men like Danarius would rule the Free Marches and everywhere else. But,” he said, reluctantly, “I can see that you are not such a man. You have not taken and used what was thrust into your hands. Danarius will think you a fool for that, too, but I… am grateful. And I am sorry,” he ducked his head down again, and Anders could feel the tension in his hand. “He will rip you apart for it and take from you what he wants, and he will use it to control me.”

Anders shivered. “Well, then. We’d better make sure he can’t do that. Hadn’t we?”

 

***

It wasn’t long after that that Hawke came to find them. He knocked quietly on the door, and Fenris instantly sat back, releasing Anders’ hand.

“I heard voices,” Hawke said, coming to take a seat next to Anders on the bed. He also took Anders’ hand. _Lucky hand_ , Anders thought, _having a little threesome of its own_. “How do you feel?”

“I’m fine,” Anders reassured him. “Sorry to cause such a fuss. At least I can think straight, now.”

Hawke smiled, but the worry didn’t leave his eyes. He looked between Anders and Fenris. “Did – did Fenris explain…?”

“I told him what Merrill said,” Fenris replied. Anders wondered if he was trying to cut off any chance that the conversation would turn again to his spunk.

Which in turn made Anders reflect upon it. The little piece of Fenris that was inside him right now. There was something a little delicious about that, and Anders revelled in the opportunity to think about something that Justice normally would have disapproved of. Had Justice not been completely occupied with Fenris’s spunk himself.

“Any news from Varric?” Fenris asked, probably trying to divert the topic of conversation.

Hawke grimaced. “Nothing helpful. But he’s only been at it a few hours. Merril said she went to the Black Emporium,” he added. “Which surprised me. I didn’t think it was the sort of place she would know.”

Fenris snorted. “It’s full of dark magic. Why _wouldn’t_ she go there?”

Hawke frowned at him. “Well, because it’s virtually impossible to find and she’s not exactly the kind of wealthy clientele I’d expect to get an invitation, to be honest. But she said Isabella took her once and Xenon let her tie her bit of string to something or other and she likes to go in and chat to the urchin. Apparently.” Hawke shook his head. “Anyway, she said Xenon recognised some of the symbols she copied from the maul, but couldn’t tell her anything else.”

Fenris shrugged. “I’m not surprised,” he said, darkly. “Much of what Danarius does is entirely of his own invention. And,” he added, rubbing the lines on his neck distractedly, “we know this is tied to me. And I am Danarius’s _special little creation_.” 

The bitterness in that last was cutting. Anders was beginning to realise that although he had heard Fenris talk before about his anger towards his former master and what had been done to him – ad nauseam, in fact – he hadn’t seen how vulnerable it made the elf feel. And he was beginning to suspect that a lot of the viciousness Fenris directed at others served as a distraction for the hatred the elf directed towards himself.

Stupid not to have seen it before, really, but then, they had neither of them much cared to scratch below the surface of the other.

“Well,” said Hawke, clearly eager to find some new, more positive avenue to direct them down, “I think it was a good thought of Merrill’s to try. And maybe she was just asking the wrong questions. Xenon might not be able to tell us anymore, but he must have all sorts of connections. Perhaps someone with a bit more money than Merrill could persuade him to put us in touch with an enchanter who isn’t as scared stiff of that maul as Sandal. It’s worth a try.”

Anders could feel Fenris’s obvious doubt and wanted to say something to bolster Hawke’s optimism, but it honestly didn’t sound that promising. There was a difference between crafting an enchanted object and breaking the enchantment, and the runes on the maul were clearly only part of a much more complex spell. Worse, Anders was beginning to have the uneasy feeling that even Danarius wouldn’t know how to undo what he had wrought. If, as Fenris had suggested, it was an entirely novel invention, it might be that no one had the knowledge to dispel it.

Still, he didn’t want to undermine Hawke. The man often stumbled upon the solution to something whilst headed in completely the opposite direction. The most important thing was for him to keep looking. He cleared his throat. “You might also ask him about any experts in cleansing. Maybe all we really need is a strong enough dispel.”

Fenris snorted beside him and Anders turned to look. “If cleansing magic is the solution,” he said, “I rather feel like we are ignoring the obvious.”

Anders suspected he was not going to like the answer, but had to ask, “What?”

“Tell me, Hawke,” Fenris said, looking away from Anders. “If your mage were not involved and you wanted to dispel blood magic performed by a powerful maleficar, would you not at least speak to a templar?”


	18. Anders has some objections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders is not entirely happy with Fenris's suggestion that they talk to a Templar. Much snarking ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter because I am so, so, so tired, but I really wanted to get a little something down.

Anders stared at Fenris, wondering in that moment if he had somehow imagined the fellow feeling that they had shared before Hawke entered the room. Even Justice stirred, in response to Anders’ fear. Not enough to bring cracks to his skin or light to his eyes, but for a moment, Fenris’s brands stirred faintly, and he stiffened under Anders’ gaze.

Then it was gone. Whatever had disturbed Anders was apparently not as important as the lyrium in Anders’ stomach and the false promises of its enchantments.

 _To the Void with both of you_ , Anders thought. “Are you insane?” he demanded. “Or am I, that I actually thought you might have an ounce of empathy in your blighted, pig-ignorant soul?”

“Anders,” Hawke said, giving his hand a squeeze.

He withdrew it. He’d had about enough of being petted like an invalid.

Fenris remained impassive. “I’m not proposing we hand you over to Meredith, mage.”

“Right, so we’ll find a nice, friendly Templar, shall we? Maybe that one Hawke likes so much, Serrah ‘Mages cannot be treated like people’. Go up to him and say ‘So, I've been magically enslaved to this abomination, here. Know any good ways to dispel that kind of thing?’ And he’ll say, ‘Sure, I have this sword right here that usually does the job.’”

Fenris went very still. “Shall I go do that now, master?” His voice was low and quiet and thrummed with anger.

“What?” Anders snapped. “Fenris, that’s not funny.”

“I don’t think he thinks it is either,” Hawke said, putting his hand on Anders’ leg. “You gave him an instruction.”

“I – what?” Anger, confusion, then realisation washed across his face in turn. “Oh, for… No, Fenris, I was being sarcastic.”

A fraction of the tension in Fenris's body released. “Were you?” Fenris replied, his own voice dripping with sarcasm now. “Because I would ask you to have a care in how you speak to those you have ‘ _magically enslaved_ ’.”

“OK,” said Hawke, holding up his hands. “I think we could all do with taking a breath. Fenris, I know Anders should have been more careful with his words, but you must also see that Anders didn’t mean it that way.”

“I don’t think the spell has mastered the _nuances_ of Anders’ great wit,” Fenris said, still glaring at the mage.

“And Anders,” Hawke said, meeting Anders' gaze with a placid sort of sympathy that was itself infuriating. “We don’t have to talk to Cullen. We have other options. Not all Templars are the same.”

Anders raised his eyebrows. “And you want to test that theory by telling one of your ‘nice’ Templar friends that I’m possessed, do you? Because you know there really isn’t going to be a way around that. And if you want a Templar to dispel magic that’s affecting me, I _am_ going to have to be there.”

“There’s Thrask,” Hawke said, calmly. “He owes us. He trusts us. He allowed Feynriel to escape the Circle. And he has more reason than most to understand how a mage might come to be possessed.”

Anders crossed his arms. “I am not like that girl. Justice is not a demon. It’s not remotely the same.”

“I know that,” Hawke went on. His measured tone was starting to grate, making Anders feel like he was being _managed_. “And I think Thrask can be brought to see that. He _listens_ Anders. He’s willing to consider new options. I think Fenris is right, we _have_ to try this.”

“Do you relish the thought of your spirit being ripped from you, mage?” Fenris asked, drawing Anders’ attention back to him. “With whatever that will mean for you? Or perhaps you think you will survive it; perhaps you think you will be able to control Justice as Danarius would, and use him to control me.”

Anders stared at him. “You know I don’t. Or were you lying when you said that?”

“I was not,” Fenris said, “but you know the longer this goes on the worse it will be for both of us, and _every other ending_ sees me a slave with a demon trapped in my body. No hope of escape. We have nothing else but fools errands, and Danarius could find us at any time. And it was your idea to find an expert on dispelling magic.”

Anders closed his eyes. He knew Fenris was right. But however easy Hawke felt it was to trust Thrask, Anders could not make the same leap. He knew that even a well-meaning Templar could keep a door closed on a young boy’s cries for a year, if his superior told him to. And what was a boy who just wanted to swim across a lake and dance with pretty girls to a grown man, possessed. An abomination. 

Thrask might have let Feynriel go free, but he was still a child, and one who would be cared for and watched by the Dalish. And as for Thrask’s own daughter. Well. Might that not be message enough for how badly such things could end?

But then there was the blue fog in which he had existed for a day. There was Fenris obeying his every command. And it was only a matter of time before his ability to restrain Justice dissolved. The dread in his heart that he would drown in that fog, and whatever was left would simply take whatever it needed from the elf without his permission.

“Alright,” he said at last. “But I want Aveline to be there.” He opened his eyes to see the surprise on both their faces.

“Aveline? I… wasn’t sure the two of you got on,” Hawke said.

Anders pulled a face. “We don’t _not_ get on. And she believes in fairness. Justice admires her greatly. She wouldn’t stand for a Templar killing me for trying to get out of this situation. And,” he said with an only slightly forced smile, “I rather like the idea of three big, strong warriors protecting me from Templars.”

Hawke looked to the elf. “Fenris?”

He shrugged. “I agree, Aveline is a fine warrior, and if she is willing to do it her presence would add a great deal of weight in convincing Thrask to be… sympathetic. She is also discreet; less likely to giggle than Merrill.”

Anders snorted. “I don’t think Aveline _can_ giggle. Can’t even imagine what that would _be_.”

Hawke looked relieved. “OK. Good. I’ll… fill Aveline in, then, and I’ll get a message to Thrask asking him to meet.”

“Great,” said Anders, unable to keep the apprehension from his voice.

Hawke leant forward. “I will protect you,” he said.

 _I’m not sure you can, Hawke,_ Anders thought.


	19. A meeting with a templar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke, Anders, Fenris, and Aveline meet with Ser Thrask to ask for his help in cleansing the spell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, this is officially longer than any of my completed works of original fiction, and with what I have planned it looks like we might be going a little while yet.

Hawke had arranged to meet Thrask in Darktown, away from the prying eyes of the Gallows.

Aveline had been as discreet as Fenris had hoped. She had known of their suspicion that Danarius was behind the attack on Fenris, of course, but she had taken news that Fenris was now under Anders’ command with very little comment. He had felt her eyes on him and Anders a couple of times, calmly appraising them, but she had not tried to hide the look, had nodded in acknowledgement when he met her gaze.

Fenris found himself glad for her presence. Not least because Anders was clearly terrified.

That had surprised him. Furious? Mistrustful? That was only to be expected, but now that he was accustomed to watching Anders more closely, he could read the fear. Almost smell it. Yet he doubted he would have seen it a week ago. His distaste for what the man was had led him to avoid looking at him as much as possible. But now he could see the tightness in Ander’s jaw, the nervous darting of his eyes that he tried to hide in running his fingers through his hair.

Guiltily, Fenris admitted to himself that asking Anders to tell a Templar about Justice was rather more than simply dragging him to the Gallows, as Hawke often had. However much any of the rest of them might trust Thrask, Anders represented everything the order existed to prevent and destroy. It was by no means unlikely that Thrask would want the mage put down, however deep his general sympathy for mages went.

Thrask did not keep them waiting long, nor did he seem suspicious of Hawke’s request that they meet in Darktown.

“Hawke,” he said, clasping hands with the warrior. “However I can help, I am at your service.”

“I hope so,” Hawke said, releasing him. “But if you are unwilling to help, I’ll understand. All I ask is your promise that you’ll keep what I tell you between us, whatever else comes of this.”

Thrask looked from Hawke to his companions, taking their measure. Fenris read recognition for Anders, curiosity for himself, and surprise when he noted Aveline. They exchanged a nod of respect.

Thrask looked back to Hawke. “You keep interesting company, Hawke, for good or ill,” he said. “But I’m not insensitive to your discretion. You’ve helped me in the past, more than once. If I can return the favour, I will.” He paused for a moment, then nodded. “And if I cannot, I will repay your silence in kind. It is the least I can do.”

“Thank you,” Hawke said. He stepped to one side and gestured to his friends. “I believe you’ve met Anders before,” he said.

Thrask nodded. “Of course. You are often with Hawke, I think. Thank you also, for your aid.”

Anders ducked his head in acknowledgement, but said nothing.

“And this is Fenris,” Hawke went on.

The Templar presented his hand to be grasped, and Fenris took it. “We’ve not met, Serrah, but you have an impressive reputation.”

“And,” began Hawke, turning to Aveline.

“Captain Aveline Vallen,” Thrask finished, grasping arms with her as well. “I had not expected to meet you in Darktown, my lady, but it is a pleasure to do so, nonetheless. The guard is better under your command.”

“Thank you, Ser,” she said. “Hawke speaks highly of you. I am here for myself, not as captain of the guard, but I hope you can help our friends.”

Thrask tilted his head, considering her words, his gaze briefly skipping off Fenris and Anders, then back to Hawke. “So,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“Well,” began Hawke. “If you have heard of Fenris, you are perhaps aware that he was formerly a slave of a Tevinter magister named Danarius.”

Fenris forced himself to not bend away from Thrask’s look, from the recognition in the Templar’s eyes that he, Fenris, had once been property. “A barbaric practice,” Thrask said. “I am glad you were able to get free.”

“As am I,” Fenris replied.

Beside him, Anders twitched. A small movement of the wrist, nothing more, but enough for Fenris to recognise his irritation. No doubt the mage took affront at the Templar objecting to slavery when he felt the Circle to be slavery itself. At least Anders had the sense to not voice his misplaced anger now.

“Unfortunately,” Hawke went on, “we believe the magister has tracked Fenris to Kirkwall. He was attacked a few days ago, with this.” Hawke lifted the ugly maul onto a nearby ledge and unwrapped it from the thick canvas they had wound it with to prevent any chance further blood might be spilled on its runes.

Thrask whistled to look at it.

“We believe it has been heavily enchanted to… prepare Fenris. We think Danarius intended to bind a demon to Fenris, embedding it in the lyrium markings Danarius tattooed him with when he was a slave.”

Thrask’s eyes shot to Fenris, travelling over his brands. “Maker’s breath! That’s lyrium?”

“It is,” Fenris said, schooling his countenance to remain blank and endure the attention.

“By Andraste,” the Templar swore. “I will help you however I can. That is… that's horrible.” He then looked to Hawke, “But why meet in secret about this? Any Templar would be glad to help you. The Knight-Captain-”

Hawke was shaking his head. “If that were all, perhaps we would. But it’s not.” He swallowed, and Fenris saw Anders tense out of the corner of his eye. He had a sudden, absurd urge to hold the man’s hand, but resisted it. “What do you know of Anders, Ser Thrask?”

The Templar turned his gaze on the mage, and Fenris could only hope the man would contain himself. Thrask smiled wryly, “The Healer of Darktown, if I am not mistaken. I take it that you are why we are meeting here.” Anders flushed, and Thrask went on. “Don’t worry, I know the difference between a man who helps refugees for free and an abomination.”

“Apparently not,” the mage murmured.

Fenris made a choking sound, biting back unbidden laughter. Aveline showed more presence of mind, laying a hand quietly on Anders’ arm.

Thrask looked to Hawke, puzzled. Hawke rubbed his neck. There was no delaying it, he went for bluntness. “Anders is possessed by a spirit of Justice, Ser Thrask.”

The Templar started back, staring at Anders. “He – what?”

“I’m what you would call an abomination, Templar,” Anders said, his face flinty. “I’m _the abomination_ who helps refugees for free in Darktown.”

“Hawke,” Thrask said, his eyes jumping between the man who had helped him time and again and the man who represented everything he had sworn to fight. His hand came to rest on the pommel of his sword.

Instantly, Aveline stepped between Thrask and Anders, her own sword half drawn. “None of that,” she said levelly. “Anders is no danger to you. As long as you are no danger to him.”

Thrask raised his hands, slowly, looking past Aveline to Anders. The mage was breathing harder now, but Fenris did not feel the flicker in his markings that would suggest they had Justice’s attention. He supposed it was something of a blessing that the spirit was otherwise engaged just now.

“Forgive me,” Thrask said, staring at Anders. “You are not quite like any abomination I have seen before.”

“No,” Anders said. “I imagine I’m not. I’ve found Templars rarely differentiate between Fade spirits and demons, but it does make a difference.”

Fenris could see Thrask was thinking hard, but not taking his eyes off Anders for a moment. “Hawke,” he asked, “why are you telling me this? How is he involved? I can’t imagine you’d share this with me easily.”

Hawke also stepped forward, put his hand to Thrask’s breastplate, and pushed him back. Thrask retreated without resistance.

“Anders has also been affected by the spell. After Fenris was hit, he wouldn’t wake up, so we took him to Anders. When he examined him the spell… did something to the spirit within him.”

“It wants to bind Justice into Fenris’s markings,” Anders said. “None of us want that.”

“This is dark blood magic, Thrask,” Hawke said. “It is destroying Anders and it will enslave Fenris. Please, there must be a way to cleanse them. Dispel this.”

Thrask looked between Anders and Hawke, and back again. “Without harming the…” perhaps he saw something in Anders’ eyes that made him rephrase, “the mage.”

“Or the spirit within him,” Hawke said, his tone even, but steely.

Thrask closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, no.”

Fenris hadn’t realised how much hope he had placed on this until he heard the Templar’s refusal. His eyes found Anders, and read both despair and anger. In that moment, Fenris felt the tell-tale thrumming in his skin. Justice was not completely oblivious, it seemed.

Fenris grabbed Anders' arm, careful to grasp the thick fabric of his cloak and not the exposed skin of his hand. Anders met his eyes. The hopelessness he read there did little to calm his own fears. Something flashed in the mage’s eyes. Something blue and bright and unnatural.

“Calm yourself,” Fenris hissed.

“Ser Thrask, please,” Aveline was saying.

But Thrask held up his hands. “You don’t understand,” he added hastily, his eyes fixed on Anders. “It’s not that I won’t help – I don’t think I can.” Thrask’s eyes flicked to his. “I’ve never even heard of magic like this. Perhaps, a more powerful Templar, but… Short of the rite of-”

“Tranquillity?” Anders said, stepping forward, his voice overlaid with that of his spirit companion.

“Which is obviously not an option,” Thrask said hastily.

Fenris tightened his grip on Anders arm, but if the mage even felt it, he couldn’t say.

“Is there nothing you can suggest?” Hawke asked, a note of desperation in his voice.

Thrask licked his lips. “You might ask the Knight-Captain.”

“Cullen?” Hawke asked.

“That bigoted arse?” Anders said, his voice blessedly human and singular again.

“He’s a good man,” Thrask insisted, with no small amount of bravery. “And he was at the Circle in Fereldan when it fell. There were countless blood mages and abominations there and Cullen was one of the few who survived. If anyone can help you in this city, it would be him.” His eyes flicked back to Anders. “You might want to leave him behind when you go, though.”

Anders snorted. “On that, we are agreed.”


	20. In which Merrill cleans a weapon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke et al return to his estate, deflated from their discussion with Thrask. Merrill arrives and has *opinions* about Fenris and Anders holding hands. Forceful ones. When Hawke leaves them to seek out Cullen, the elf and the mage must deal with how being in closer proximity affects them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knew hand-holding would become such a thing in this story?
> 
> We're moving back towards the smut, but in the meantime, please enjoy this angst plus sexual tension.
> 
> Please note as background that my Hawke successfully talked Anders down from killing the mage girl. I could have put that directly in the text, but it felt awkward and hey, what are notes for?

Hawke stayed close to Anders’ side on the walk back from Darktown, inserting himself between the mage and Fenris. He tried to force down the note of jealousy that coloured his concern. He knew damn well why they had been walking so close together and was grateful that Fenris had been there to restrain Anders when Justice had emerged from slumber.

It was just that he could see Anders’ tension, his fear. He wanted to pull the mage to him, wrap him in his arms, and whisper promises that everything would be OK, that he would save him. He wanted to reduce the world to just Anders and him and simply hold him and keep him safe. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t ignore the rest of the world. Could not ignore Fenris. And he couldn’t protect Anders from the spirit inside him or what would happen if that spirit was ripped away.

And Anders knew it. Hawke could see it in the stiffness of his walk. In how he pulled away from Hawke’s touch. He’d brought them to a Templar, exposed Anders completely, and it had all been for nothing. Nothing but the suggestion that the only source of help lay in talking to someone that Anders trusted even less.

They stopped briefly at Anders’ clinic so that he could talk to a young woman who stood waiting by the darkened lantern. Explained that needs had taken him away from the clinic and he might still be gone for several days more. He ducked in briefly and emerged carrying a box full of healing potions and salves, which he pressed into her hands. She seemed worried for him, but he shook off her concerns and went to rejoin them. “Come on,” he said, without looking back.

They left through the tunnels that led up to Hawke’s estate from Anders’ clinic. Aveline went with them, but left from there to return to her office in the Guard.

“Come for me when you go see Cullen,” she said in parting. “Don’t take Anders, but come for me anyway. I’ll make him see sense if he gives you any trouble.”

Hawke nodded and let her go.

He wished they had then been alone, but he felt the eyes of Bodahn, Sandal, Orana – how had he ended up with so many servants? Could they never be in private anymore?

He took Anders’ hand and pulled him into the library, but once they were alone, Anders pulled away. Turned his back to him.

“Hey,” Hawke said, gently. He crossed to Anders but didn’t pull at him this time, walked around him so they were facing. It cut into him to see the tears in Anders’ eyes.

“At least I didn’t kill anyone,” Anders said, not looking at Hawke.

Oh. “Is that what you…?” When he put his hands on Anders this time, the mage didn’t resist. Hawke pulled him close. “This isn’t like that girl. If he’d tried to hurt you I’d have killed him myself.”

“But he didn’t, Hawke,” Anders said. “You were right, and… if Justice hadn’t been so distracted.” He took a shaky breath. “‘Tranquillity’ – he actually mentioned the Rite of Tranquillity and… and I could have killed him. I…”

“Hey, hey,” Hawke held him, put a hand up to his hair pulled him down so their foreheads were together. “You didn’t, you wouldn’t have. It’s OK.” And to stop Anders stop fixating further, Hawke bent his neck up and kissed him. Lips so soft against one another. The comforting roughness of Anders stubble. The physicality of being two people together, body to body. A grounding.

“I have you,” he whispered. “I’ll always have you.”

Anders rested his forehead against Hawke’s again. “You can’t keep me safe forever, Hawke,” he whispered. “ _I’m_ not safe.”

“You are when you’re in my arms,” Hawke insisted, squeezing him closer, vowing to make it true.

***

When Merrill arrived, Hawke and Anders were still in the library, and Fenris was trying to give them some privacy, sitting by the fire with the dog again.

“Hello?” she called, entering from the door that led to the tunnels below Hawke’s house. “Hawke? I’ve had a thought and, maybe it’ll come to nothing, but I think we should do it anyway and…” She emerged from the corridor and took in Fenris, Bodahn, and Sandal, and that Hawke and Anders were nowhere in sight.

“Where are they, Fenris?” she asked, looking at him with a sharpness he rarely saw on her face.

“In here, Merrill,” Hawke called from the library.

“Right then,” she said, walking over to Fenris and taking his hand. “Come on.” She pulled him to his feet.

He could have resisted. Certainly she hadn’t a tenth of his strength, and usually just her touch - the magic in her blood tingling against his skin and his knowledge of what she did with it – would have been enough for him to force her back. But he was not unaware of the efforts she had made on his behalf. A little bemused, he allowed himself to be pulled into the library.

It was only when he realised she was determinedly dragging him over to Anders that he stopped in his tracks. “Merrill, no,” he said, freeing his hand from her grasp.

“Yes,” she said, grabbing it again. “I told you before. The two of you need to stay together. Close together. Preferably touching. For your own good.” She pulled on his hand, but he stayed put.

“Merrill,” Anders said, clearing his throat. “It might have been fine earlier, but as… time passes since… you know, the closer we get… I don’t think you understand what it’s like when we touch.”

Merrill seemed unphased. “Pretty intense, I would imagine. Justice perks up. Starts reaching out to Fenris?” She asked. And then, at Anders’ uneasy shrug. “Good. That’s what you want to happen. If Justice is involved in you holding Fenris’s hand, then it means he’s working with you to do the same thing, and not pulling away from you to do… something else. And I promise you,” she said, looking from one man to the other, making them meet her eyes. “It will be less intense if you stop resisting it. Get used to being with each other now so that when Justice starts looking outward again it’s not all in a big rush and it’ll be something Anders can control. Now,” she said, tugging on Fenris’s hand again. “Come on.”

With a certain amount of apprehension, Fenris allowed himself to be pulled over to Anders, seated in the chair next to him, and for his hand to be firmly pressed down over the mage’s.

His skin came alive. Not merely the lyrium lighting up, but a tingling warmth that spread out from his palm and travelled all over in a shiver.

Beside him, Anders breathed out, slow and long. When Fenris glanced his way, he was looking wide-eyed at their joined hands. His eyes remained a human, golden brown, but the skin of his hand and wrist flashed with cracks of blue.

“Are you alright?” Hawke asked, hovering over Anders. 

Anders took a deep, steadying breath and blinked. “I… I think so,” he said, still staring at Fenris’s hand.”

“Fenris?”

The elf looked up at Hawke. “Yes,” he said, his own voice a trifle breathy. “She’s right. It’s… stimulating, but not as much as before.”

Hawke looked at them with a worried frown. “I’ll need to go out, soon, to see the Knight-Captain. I’m not sure about leaving you two here if…”

“It’s fine, Hawke,” Anders said, looking up at him now. “I can do this. We’ll never get this sorted out if you have to stay watching me all the time.”

“I’ll stay with them, Hawke,” said Merrill, “if you need to go. I was going to suggest something that involved sitting up here with that maul, anyway.”

“What were you thinking?” Fenris asked, trying to distract himself from the warmth of Anders’ skin beneath his fingers, from the urge to run them along the cracks in it so the lyrium in his brands sung with the song of the Fade.

“I was thinking that we should probably wash the blood off it. The maul, I mean,” she said. “I don’t think it will break the spell, but it won’t hurt. And leaving your blood there, in contact with those runes, well… it might interfere with any efforts we made to undo the spell. No harm trying, anyway.”

“Might as well,” Anders said, the cracks of light in his skin fading as Fenris watched. He felt a pang of regret to see them go, even as he found it cleared his head a little.

“Alright,” said Hawke. “I’ll get Orana to bring in a tub and fill it with water and suds. Get it to soak a bit first. And I’ll see if she can’t find you some gloves. I don’t want you to go cutting yourself on it.”

“No worries there,” Merrill said, drawing out a pair of thick leather gloves. “Varric helped me find them. They’ve got enchantments of their own that should make them harder to pierce. And they’re waterproof.” She smiled, pulling them on.

It didn’t take long for Orana to pull in the tub and Hawke to dump the heavy maul inside it, bloody side up.

He checked in with Anders several times to make sure he was fine to be holding Fenris’s hand, but eventually seemed to accept that there was little he could do here, and much he should do if he was to find Cullen and somehow talk him into helping without revealing too much about Anders. He gave Anders a kiss goodbye, and left.

They sat quietly for a while, watching as Orana brought bucket after bucket of warm water into the room. Somewhere between the fourth and the fifth, Fenris felt Anders’ hand move under his, lace their fingers together.

He looked over at the mage. 

“Sorry,” said Anders, rubbing his free hand over his face as though caught doing something naughty. He spread his fingers slightly, so that it would be easy for Fenris to free his hand if he wanted. “We don’t have to… it could just be touch, if you prefer.”

He looked into Anders’ eyes, reading the desire and guilt there. “No,” he said softly. “This is fine.” 

Anders’ fingers closed around his again, and he allowed himself to enjoy the sensation of their warmth. Tried not to think about it in terms of how good it felt to be pleasing his master. Focused on the gentle thrumming that passed through the tattoos on his fingers and palm where they touched. The light had flickered out from most of his brands after he’d become used to the contact, but just there – just there where they touched – there was a _connection_.

They watched in silence as Orana poured the last pail of water into the tub and Merrill began to carefully clean the weapon.

Anders’ thumb rubbed gently along the side of his, causing his breath to catch.

When he looked over, Anders was watching him thoughtfully.

“Tell me if I’m bothering you,” he said in a low murmur.

“You’re not bothering me,” Fenris said, closing his eyes to enjoy the sensation.

“Is it helping?” Fenris asked after a little while of Anders rubbing slowly, slowly against him like that, rhythmically reinforcing their touch.

“I think so,” Anders said.

“How long do you think before…” he opened his eyes and looked down at Anders’ stomach.

Anders chuckled. “I don’t know. I’ve never really tracked my bowel movements as such. But… at a guess, I’d say we’re good for several more hours yet. Maybe even until tomorrow. And it took a while before it really started to… impair me, after that.”

“If you stay together you might not even have to do anything to keep Justice occupied,” Merrill said, making Fenris twitch at the reminder that they weren’t alone. How could he have forgotten?

Anders rubbed his thumb along Fenris’s hand again, and he shivered at the sensation. _Ah_.

“I’m not sure how practical it is for us to remain constantly together like this,” he said to her.

She met his eyes, and he read something like understanding there. She nodded. “As much as you can, though,” she said. “I can see just looking at you now that this is better for Anders and for Justice. And that’s better for you, Fenris.”

He nodded. There didn’t seem much more to say to that. Anders said it was helping, and he certainly didn’t want the spirit breaking away from the mage and seeking a home in himself.

He turned his attention back to Anders. The rubbing of the mage’s thumb on his skin was delicious. He strove to squash down the desire it provoked in him. He wouldn’t embarrass himself in front of Merrill, and he would not betray Hawke’s trust again. It was one thing for the three of them to be together, quite another for him to…

He cleared his throat, jerking his mind away from that line of thought.

“Anders, I… heard you and Hawke talking earlier. I didn’t mean to intrude, but…”

“But you can’t help yourself?” Anders said, the gentle stroke of his thumb stopping. “Need to chip in and comment on how I nearly lost it again, do you?”

“No,” Fenris said, evenly, meeting Anders’ eyes. “I was impressed,” he said. _I hadn’t realised how scared you were before_ , he thought.

Anders snorted derision. “Don’t tell me you now approve of me and everything I believe in.”

He felt the tug of _command_. “As you wish, _master_ ,” he replied, pointedly.

Anders groaned. “I didn’t mean it like that. Can’t I just say, ‘It’s never a command, you can always do as you wish,’ and have done?”

“No,” said Fenris quietly. “I don’t think it works like that.”

“Fine,” the mage said in frustration. “I give you permission to speak your thoughts. Tell me what you were going to say.”

Fenris sighed. “I wasn’t going to say that I now approve of everything you believe in, and I certainly can’t say I think your relationship with Justice is wise or healthy. But… I could see how much the Templar bothered you. And… I would not have you made Tranquil.”

“Even if it saved your life? Your freedom?” Anders’ tone surprised him. Had the mage actually considered it?

Fenris looked into his eyes and read sadness there, and a kind of understanding that was uncomfortable to look at.

“Mage, I… I know I have said things before to make you think I might do that, but… to have one’s will taken away like that, for one’s emotions to no longer…” he swallowed. “I have been thinking how it would be, if a spirit or demon were forced into my body, if I could not even talk like this. If my actions and were dictated wholly by the commands of others. To be less than a slave. To be a shell of myself.” He closed his eyes. “I do believe the rite may sometimes be necessary, but no, I would not wish it on you, not simply to save myself.”

Anders squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

They sat in silence for a while after that, listening to Merrill carefully scrubbing Fenris’s blood off the maul.

Fenris was surprised when a second hand came to rest on his, calling his attention back to Anders. The mage was tracing a line of lyrium up from his wrist to his elbow.

Fenris stiffened, entranced by the sensation, feeling a yearning awake in him.

“Anders,” he breathed the mage’s name.

Anders replied in a voice low enough that only Fenris might hear. “I know,” he sighed, pressing a little deeper against the line, making Fenris gasp. “I know. But you’re so beautiful. And I can hear your song. I could play you so you sang louder to Justice than that little piece you left inside me.”

“Play me?” Fenris asked, unable to stop himself leaning in to Anders’ touch.

“Mmm,” Anders murmured in agreement, shifting in his seat to lean closer to Fenris. “Like a lute,” and then he snorted. “No, better than a lute. Hawke says I am not so very good at that. But this…” He bent forward, inhaling Fenris’s scent, his nose running lightly across Fenris’s neck, causing Fenris to suck in his breath, “This I can do.”

“You… find me beautiful,” Fenris said, striving to keep his voice inaudible to Merril, but aware she could not be completely oblivious.

Anders snorted. “I’m not blind,” he murmured into the elf’s ear, his nose now brushing the edge of that as well. Fenris squeezed down on Anders’ hand to avoid making a noise.

Then he pushed against Anders’ shoulder. The mage sat back with a groan, and Fenris met his eyes again.

“Hawke,” said Anders, not really needing to say more.

“Hawke,” Fenris confirmed.

Anders cleared his throat and looked away. “Hey, Merrill,” he said. “Talk to us. We’re bored, and this hand-holding you’re having us do is very distracting.”

Fenris’s eyes widened at Anders’ bluntness.

“Hmmm, oh, what?” Merrill said, giving a passible impression of having been too absorbed in her work to notice them. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Why don’t you tell us about the runes as you clean them,” Anders said.

And she did. A lot of it was what she had told them before, but she coloured it with more detail. This rune meant this, but it was associated with that, and was related to this other one, which had such-and-such implications. Anders strung out the discussion by asking her questions. It wasn’t the most fascinating conversation, and Fenris felt very much on the periphery, with little to contribute, but it was enough to keep them distracted, at least for now.

Hopefully until Hawke could get back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like it noted that I resisted the temptation of following "Merrill, no!" with "Merrill, yes!" No Earth memes for Kirkwall.


	21. A conversation with Knight-Captain Cullen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke, Varric, and Aveline ask Cullen for help freeing Fenris from mind-control, trying to say as little as possible about Anders' involvement. Cullen's suggestion reveals a surprising family connection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much plot in my porn, my goodness! And a chapter without either Fenris or Anders. Sorry folks, they needed to talk to Cullen, and Anders really needed to not be there. Should be something more smutty coming next chapter, though.

The light was getting low by the time Hawke, Aveline, and Varric arrived at the Gallows, painting the stone in warm orange tones and glinting off the bronze statuary with a discomforting kind of beauty.

They had spoken little along the way, although he had been touched when Varric had asked after himself, as well as Anders and Fenris, as they had left The Hanged Man.

“How are you holding up?”

“I’ll manage,” he’d responded, but the dwarf was not to be put off.

“OK,” Varric had said, “good. But that’s not what I asked. You know, it’s OK for you to be upset by all this, too, Hawke.”

He’d grunted in response.

“Oh, non-verbal is it? Fine, fine, I’m just saying, if it were me, I’d be feeling a bit jealous.”

Hawke stopped and looked at him. “Varric, none of this is their fault. I just want to get both of them out of this alive and whole.”

Varric held up his hands. “I’m not saying it is. But I know you, and I know you’ll be trying to do the right thing when maybe there isn’t a perfectly right thing to do here. It’s only natural to feel bothered by your boyfriend getting handsy with someone else - whatever the reason. So, in case you do, just... but don’t beat yourself up about it, OK?”

Hawke had rolled his eyes, but acquiesced, “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask.”

Now, standing in the Gallows, under the shielded gaze of those awful statues and the watchful eye of half a dozen Templars, Hawke wondered if he hadn’t been too forceful with Anders about this. He wasn’t a mage, he didn’t know what it was like, but Anders had told him about his many escape attempts, and the punishments. He was always glib about it, casting himself in a heroic, adventurous role, but Hawke could sense underneath a pressure to keep the conversation moving.

Ask Anders about what happened to mages in the Kirkwall circle and he could go on for hours in a detailed catalogue of abuses. But ask about himself, about his time in solitary... he always found a way to neatly divert the conversation. He’d talk about the cat that had visited him, and from there to Ser Pounce-a-lot and how unfair it was that the Wardens had taken his pet away.

There was something dark there. It wasn’t so much that Anders hid the events, but it was always at a distance. Seven escape attempts was a number to quote, to make a point. That mages were beaten and whipped was a premise in an argument from his manifesto. To ask about the scars on Anders’ own back, though, was to end the conversation, often with a kiss.

Hawke was sure Cullen would have no truck with the kind of punishment Anders had fled from, but the Knight-Commander had been blunt enough in his dismissal of mage rights. What if Cullen did refuse to help? Challenged him to produce the abomination he was trying to save? He would never turn Anders’ over, but Cullen could easily have them watched and work it out.

And yet, the memory of how Anders had been – the dazed expression, the obsessive drawing and tapping and pacing about, Anders’ own fear that he would force himself on Fenris if they remained too far apart. He had to act. He’d protect Anders as best he could, but this was the only idea they’d had with any weight. He had to try.

Hawke spotted Cullen near the steps and walked over, getting the Templar’s attention.

“Hawke,” he said in greeting. “What can I do for you?

“May we speak in private?” Hawke asked. “I have a somewhat delicate matter I’ve been told you might be able to help with.”

Cullen tilted his head, considering. “Alright. I’ve an office in the Templar Hall, come with me.”

He led them across the market and through a portcullis into the Hall, before turning off into a small side chamber. Hawke’s heart was thumping in his chest. The deeper into Templar territory they went, the harder it would be to get out if he’d misjudged Cullen. But surely it wouldn’t come to that.

Once behind his desk, with the door closed, Cullen asked, “What’s this about?”

Hawke weighed his words, hoping to conceal as much of the truth as possible whilst still telling Cullen what he would need in order to help. “One of my friends has been the victim of a particularly vile form of blood magic. It involves… mind control. I need a way to dispel it without harming him. Ser Thrask told us it wasn’t something that could easily be cleansed, but he suggested you might have seen something similar at the Circle in Fereldan. He said you were one of the few who survived.”

Cullen looked down, pursing his lips and frowning. Hawke tried to guess what he was thinking, but there were too many factors in play.

Finally, Cullen looked up again, his brow smoothed. “That’s true. I was there. It was a blood bath. I can’t say it was through any feat of skill that I survived.” His tone was clipped, but Hawke sensed it was not from irritation, but from a personal effort to contain some underlying emotion. “They did use mind control, and I saw many good men and women turn upon their fellows under the hands of blood mages. If – if your friend is under such a compulsion, I am deeply sorry. I would help however I could. But I do not know a way to resist such magic myself. The best I could do would be to expunge a mage’s mana before they used such a spell.”

Hawke’s stomach dropped. All that fear and stress and they hadn’t revealed even half of the situation before Cullen had told them he couldn’t help.

“Is there nothing you know of?” Varric asked, softly. “Maybe not something you could do yourself, but… was no one able to fight them off?”

Cullen look at Hawke, considering. “I don’t know how it might be done, but yes. There was one person there who was able to break their control; though I’d have thought you would know them better than me.”

Hawke frowned. “I don’t understand. I don’t know anyone who was at the Circle then.” _Unless… Maker, was Anders at the Circle then? Surely not. No, he’d escaped by then. Hadn’t he?_

“No?” asked Cullen. “Is your mother’s name not ‘Amell’? Your estate is the old Amell estate, so I thought...?”

“I… yes.” Where was he going with this?

“Forgive me, perhaps I’ve assumed too much – it might be a different family, I suppose, but it’s an unusual name in Fereldan. I thought… are you not related to Randara Amell? The Grey Warden?”

Varric laughed. “The Hero of Fereldan? Hawke, you dog, you never said. But then, I suppose I should have made the connection myself.”

Hawke was staring. “Well, I… I suppose I assumed it was a coincidence. Mother’s never mentioned.”

Cullen shrugged. “If not, I can write to her on your behalf. But if she is family, you might get a better response.” He sighed. “I’m afraid we didn’t part on the best of terms. I was… shaken by what happened in the Circle. It made me angry with mages for a long time. I thought they should have destroyed the Circle anyway and everyone inside, even though I'd have died as well if not for Randara fighting her way in.” Cullen looked down. “I know now I was wrong. She saved a lot of good people. She saved me.”

“Anyway,” he said, looking up. “The thing you want is the Litany of Adralla. She used it to stop the blood mages controlling people in the Tower. I don’t know if it will also work on your friend. Frankly, I have no idea how it works myself. But it’s the only thing I know of that works against mind-control.”

“Thank you, Ser Cullen,” Aveline said. “This is more than we have been able to find.”

“Yes,” Hawke said, collecting himself after the revelation that he might be related to the Hero of Fereldan. His first thought was to ask his mother, but that just ran him straight into the memory that she was no longer with them. Turning swiftly aside from the pain there, he wondered, _Would Gamlen know?_ “I’ll check on the family connection, as you suggest, but we may need to call on your good will. If I didn’t know about her, there’s a good chance she doesn’t know or care about me.”

“Of course.” Cullen nodded. “I hope she can help,” he said. “Truly. To have a friend under a blood mage’s sway like that… I know you’re capable, Hawke, but if you need our help to catch the mage, I’m sure I can spare some men.”

“That’s OK,” Hawke said hastily.

“We’re tracking him already. It’s only a matter of time,” Varric added, although in truth he’d had little enough joy tracing Danarius.

“But obviously there’s no point attacking until we can protect ourselves,” Aveline chipped in, her words sounding only a little false.

“And our first concern is helping our friend,” Hawke finished.

“Well,” said Cullen, “The offer stands, on either count. Good luck, Hawke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm aware that the Litany of Adralla only works whilst the spell is being cast, but a) Cullen does not know this, and b) it is at least a place to start. Possibly something a clever mage could build on.
> 
> I also apparently completely missed that Leandra says the Hero of Fereldan is related to them, but she does if you pump her for info. Given that it's never mentioned again, I don't think it's unreasonable to suppose that this Hawke never asked the right question and so had no idea.


	22. In which Hawke talks to Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill, Anders, and Fenris share an awkward moment. Hawke comes home with Cullen's suggestion that they reach out to the Hero of Fereldan and tries to persuade Anders he should be the one to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief amount of smut, not as much as I'd hoped - Hawke didn't really allow Anders to take him aside and discuss whether another round of sexytimes with Fenris might be OK. Next chapter, next chapter. But hopefully still a lot of fun and angst here, too.

As the evening progressed, Merrill was forced to admit that she hadn’t really appreciated how ‘intense’ constant skin-to-skin contact would be for Anders and Fenris.

It became worse once she had finished cleaning the maul and the rather determined conversation Anders had engaged her with about the runes had dried up.

There was a brief break whilst Fenris helped her lift the maul out of the tub and back onto the heavy canvas it had been wrapped in. That had taken all of a minute. Then she had insisted that he sit back down and take Anders’ hand.

She’d sat on the table then and started to ask questions about life in the Circle. At first this seemed quite promising. She found herself genuinely interested in how Anders' experience of learning magic had differed from her own, and although Fenris made it clear he was not enjoying the conversation nearly as much, she hoped his irritation and vehement disagreement would at least keep him distracted.

It had seemed to be going well until a movement drew her eye downwards and she realised that without breaking flow, describing an accident he’d had with a giant nug and the summoning font, Anders had begun rubbing his hand over Fenris’s crotch. He didn’t even seem to be aware he was doing it, but it was eminently clear that Fenris was.

The elf’s eyes were closed and his head tilted back. To say nothing of the bulge in his tight leggings, which did little to hide _exactly_ what was going on in his pants.

“Anders,” she said, as delicately as she could.

“Hmm?” he asked, hand still stroking firmly up and down on Fenris’s groin.

“Anders,” she said more pointedly, looking from his eyes to the elf’s crotch and back again.

Anders frowned and followed her gaze. “Oh!” he cried, snatching his hand back and flushing bright red. He swore loudly and in more than one language.

Fenris’s eyes snapped open, focusing on her as if surfacing from a dream.

“Maybe I should ask Orana to bring us some refreshments,” Merrill said. They were clearly in need of some more substantial form of distraction.

“I’ll go,” Fenris said, standing abruptly. His walk was ungainly, to say the least, but he nevertheless achieved a surprisingly swift exit from the room.

Anders put his head in his hands and groaned. “I’m sorry, Merrill,” he said, his voice a bit muffled. “I really hadn’t realised I was doing that.” Then he sighed and let his hands drop. “No, I suppose at some level I was aware of it, I just… it just felt so soothing, like if I just kept my hands occupied I could keep talking to you. Maker! I don’t know how long I can keep up this touching thing of yours. Not in public anyway.”

“OK,” said Merrill, squirming a bit. “I – I can see now that it might be… more of a problem than I thought.” She took a deep breath and crossed over to him, taking his head in her hands. Reaching out with her magic, she felt for the connection between Anders and the spirit that lived within him. She was relieved to find it felt a little bit stronger than before. Most of Justice’s attention was still focused on the lyrium she could sense buried in his guts, but more of it was spread out with Anders’ general awareness, as it should be. “It is helping, though,” she said. “Justice feels… less like he’s drawing away.”

Anders nodded, but didn’t look relieved. “Yes, I can feel that, too. But I think that’s part of why his… desires are nearer the surface. And… he shouldn’t really have desires like that. This is _not good_ Merrill.”

“Sorry,” she said, knowing he was right, too. “Maybe don’t touch all of the time. But try to be together. Not in different rooms like I found you earlier.”

“OK,” Anders had said, but the resignation and sadness in his eyes cut her. This was no kind of permanent solution, and they all knew it.

Fenris had returned shortly after that, looking flushed and avoiding her eyes, but walking more normally. Orana came with tea and cakes not long after that.

By the time Hawke returned from the Gallows, she’d engaged them in a game of cards, everyone’s hands above the table, although the two men sat close enough together than she knew their legs were touching underneath.

***

Hawke was surprised to come home to find his friends playing a companionable game of Wicked Grace. Perhaps more surprising was that fact that Merrill appeared to be winning.

Anders got up when he entered the room and swept him into an embrace. “I’m so glad you’re back,” he said. “Please tell me Cullen can do something.”

He allowed himself to be held for a moment, savouring the greeting, knowing Anders would be disappointed in what he had to say.

“He had an idea,” Hawke said, when Anders released him. “It’s not something that he can do, but he knows someone that he thinks can.”

Anders groaned. “Another person? It’s not Meredith, is it? Because I don’t know if I can take that.”

“No,” Hawke said with a rueful smile. “Not her at least. Another mage, in fact. Cullen thought I might know her. I don’t; although we might be related. But Varric pointed out on the way back that you might actually know her better than any of us.”

Anders frowned. “OK… stop dragging it out. Who is she?”

Varric grinned in a way that said _you’re not going to like this, but it’s good_. “Blondie,” he said. “You know how you’re a Grey Warden, right? Maps, taint, Deep Roads and everything?”

Anders tilted his head, eyes narrowing.

“I’m sure I remember you boasting a while back that you used to know the Commander of the Grey. One _Randara Amell_ , I believe. Also known as the Hero of Fereldan.”

Anders stared at them in disbelief. His mouth opened and closed several times before he found his voice. “You are joking,” he said. “Please tell me you don’t want to contact _a woman who thinks I’m dead_ , tell her I’m _possessed_ , and then ask her for help?”

Varric shrugged. “No, Blondie. We rather thought you should do it.”

“OK, Varric,” Hawke said. “I think maybe-”

“ _You do recall that I ran away from the wardens, right?_ ” Anders said, his voice rising. “It’s not really the kind of thing you can drop out of if you decide you’re not enjoying it anymore.”

Varric chuckled. “I’m sure I remember a certain mage saying you don’t have to go to the parties-”

“ _If they think you’re dead_ , Varric,” Anders was shouting, now. “They don’t invite you to the lovely undead bloodbath parties _if they think you’re dead_. There’s not really a get-out clause for deciding you’ve got something more important to do with your life before you go mad and run off to the Deep Roads to die young. If Randara knew I was alive she _might_ help us with our problem, but then she’d haul me straight back to Vigil’s Keep, probably send me straight out with a crew of Templars again!”

“Anders, calm down,” Hawke began.

“No, Hawke, you don’t understand. Justice and I have _work_ here, I-”

“Alright then, _Justice_ ,” Hawke said. “I’d like to speak to Justice about this.”

“What?” That stopped Anders in his tracks.

“We’ve talked a lot about what you want, what Fenris needs, but there’s another person involved in this, isn’t there? And if your work with him is the sticking point, I want to talk to Justice.”

Hawke swallowed to see the hurt in Anders’ eyes. “It’s not just about our work, Hawke,” Anders said. “You know if the Wardens take me back, I won’t be with you, either.”

“But you’ll be alive. Well. Fenris, too,” Hawke said. “It’s not the best outcome I could think of, but it ranks above you being mad or dead or Tranquil. So. Justice. Let’s talk.”

“He’s still… he’s rather preoccupied right now, Hawke, you know that,” Anders hedged.

“No,” Merrill chipped in, quietly. “He’s not nearly as preoccupied as he was. We’ve done a good job of getting him more in tune with you again this afternoon, and I can tell he’s been roaring just beneath the surface since the moment you mentioned contacting the Commander.” Anders glared at her and she ducked her head, murmuring, “Sorry.”

“So,” Hawke said, calling Anders’ attention back to himself. “Justice. Let’s talk.”

Anders appeared to hesitate a moment longer, then a light flashed into his eyes and began seeping through disquieting cracks in his skin. Fenris stood and moved away, and Hawke himself took an involuntary step back.

“ _You wished to speak with me, Hawke, _” he said.__

“ _That’s right,” Hawke said. “ _Tell me, do you think it’s just to ignore the only chance of saving Fenris simply because your commander might call you back to a duty you swore yourself to?_ ” _

“ _Anders swore himself to the Wardens, Kristoff was a Warden and I tried to honour his cause, but I did not swear myself to this. The Blight is over. The Mother was defeated. Mages are still not free, this is injustice. This is why we were joined._ ” 

“And Fenris?” Hawke asked. “What about him?”

The spirit turned Anders’ head to regard the elf, who retreated further. Something like yearning passed over his inhuman aspect. “ _He sings like the Fade_ ,” the spirit whispered. 

“ _Not_ what I asked, Justice,” Hawke snapped, taking his discomfort at seeing the man he loved taken over by someone else – the spirit wearing his body – and using it, focusing his anger to command the spirit’s attention. “ _Is this just?_ Or do you perhaps like the idea of controlling him? Maybe you think you can leave Anders’ behind and use Fenris in his stead?” 

“ _No!_ ” Anders’ head whipped round and the spirit was glaring at Hawke. “ _I would never! This is not the elf’s cause. We could not fight as one for this._ ”

“That’s what’s going to happen if you sit here and do nothing. You’ll leave Anders for Fenris, or worse, Danarius will find us, take you from Anders and bind you so he can control you and Fenris both. Where is the justice in that?”

Justice was silent, thinking. Eventually, he replied: “ _You are correct, Hawke. We cannot allow this. We will write to the commander._ ” And with that, the unnatural light faded from Anders’ eyes, and he swayed where he stood. 

Hawke moved forward to steady him, but Anders stepped back, glaring. “She’ll take me away from you Hawke. She’ll take me away from everything I’ve done. Everything I need to do here, she-” he closed his eyes, appeared to be listening to something no one else could hear.

Anders’ shoulders sagged. “Fine,” he said, quietly. “I’ll do it. Blast you all, but I’ll do it.”


	23. Fenris persuades Hawke and Anders to talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders flees to a quieter part of Hawke's house, but Fenris follows him. They need to talk to Hawke about how constant proximity is heightening their desire for one another. Fenris persuades Anders and Hawke to have the difficult conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some light smuttery; the beginnings of what will be full-on smut in the next chapter. Tomorrow will be crazy busy, but I'm hoping to get these boys indulging in-depth over the weekend.

Anders had stormed off after the argument. He felt a little melodramatic, but Maker, he needed to be alone. Or as alone as he ever was with Justice.

He found himself missing the alcove at the back of his clinic. He loved sharing a bed with Hawke, loved having the use of his library, but no part of Hawke’ estate was really _his_ space. He might have retreated to their bedroom, but of course, that was really _Hawke’s_ bedroom, and Hawke would have followed him in there soon enough. And everyone else was in the library now. Even _blasted_ Merrill.

What he wouldn’t give for the smell of elfroot and a dusty stone floor beneath his feet. For the stillness of Darktown - quiet but for the distant clunks and creaks of the foundries above.

He settled for finding one of Hawke’s many spare rooms and slamming the door behind him.

The room was clean and neat, as everywhere in Hawke’s house was, thanks to Orana. He walked to the far wall and rested his head against it.

Justice was already pulling at him to go back and find Fenris. He had never so much wished to be free of the demands of his spirit companion, even as he was deathly afraid of losing him.

And Justice thought he was being unfair to Hawke. And to Randara.

He banged his head on the wall.

Felt Justice’s disapproval. He was being foolish. Harming himself would help no one.

He did it again.

And then the trickling awareness of something else – someone else - as Justice’s attention was drawn away.

“ _Fenris_ ,” Anders tried to force all his frustration into the name, but it was not enough.

He sighed, turned to put his back to the wall, and sank to the floor. There was no point trying to find somewhere else to hide. The elf was coming and there was nothing he could do.

The door opened.

“I want to be alone,” he said.

Fenris entered and closed the door behind him.

“You don’t have to be with me all the time. I don’t care what Merrill says.”

“This isn’t about Merrill,” Fenris said, leaning back on the door.

“If Hawke sent you, you can tell him to-”

“It’s not about Hawke,” Fenris said, his tone placid. “Although we do need to talk to him.”

“Then _what_?” Anders asked.

“You haven’t given me an order for quite some time,” the elf said, his gaze steady. “You told me to stay in the house. Then you told me to go with you to see Ser Thrask. You have not given me an order since.” he looked away, but spoke on, stiffly. “I try, where I can, to interpret your orders loosely. I could tell myself that you wished me to remain with you after we saw Thrask. And I knew I was doing as you wished when you were rubbing yourself against me.”

“Fenris,” Anders grimaced. “I’m sorry about that. You – you don’t have to let me do things like that. I-”

“That’s not the point,” Fenris said, meeting his eyes again. “I need you to tell me something to do.”

Anders put his head in his hands. He knew he should, for Fenris’s sake, but this business with ordering the elf about made him sick to his stomach. He knew what it was to be ordered about, to have one’s own will and wishes dismissed.

And at the same time he could feel Justice rising happily. To Justice, the order was obvious: _tell him to come closer_.

Anders clenched his fists. “I can’t just order you to go away, can I?” he asked, not looking up.

There was a moment of silence, then Fenris answered. “You can do whatever you wish, but I don’t think it would wise.”

Anders groaned. “I’m not good at giving orders. I’ve never wanted to be in charge. I don’t like most people who are.”

“Nevertheless.” The elf was relentless.

He couldn’t even think of anything he wanted Fenris to do.

But Justice could.

He gave in. “Come over here.”

He didn’t look up, but he could hear the quiet tread of bare feet on carpet. Felt the thrum in the air from the lyrium in his skin.

Fenris crouched down beside him, and then the elf’s fingers ran through his hair, across the stubble of his cheek, cupped his chin. Forced him to look up into deep, green eyes.

His other hand pushed back the hair that had fallen across Anders’ face. Anders leant in to the touch. The warmth of it, the delicious tingle from the lyrium that pulsed just under the thin skin of his fingertips.

“We need to talk to Hawke,” Fenris said.

Anders shivered pleasurably to the sound of his voice. So deep. So rolling. He imagined the elf’s mouth swallowing him, moaning with that delicious rumble around his cock. He took a shuddering breath as his penis began to stiffen.

“Yes, I suppose we should,” He said, breathlessly.

“You could order me to bring Hawke here,” Fenris said, his fingers brushing up into Anders’ hair, then slowly down around the edge of his ear.

“I don’t want to see Hawke,” Anders said, one of his own hands coming to rest on Fenris’s knee.

“Because he wants you to call your commander here, and you are afraid she will order you away from him,” Fenris said, a finger tracing the inner folds and swirls of the ear, making Anders’ breath quicken, his cock hardening.

“Partly,” he said.

“You know that is ridiculous?” Fenris asked, taking the finger away, but still cupping his chin, his thumb sweeping circles against the rasp of his stubble.

Anders groaned. “Sometimes a man needs a moment alone to be irrational,” he said, before bringing a hand up to cover Fenris’s, pull it to his mouth, kiss dry lips against the place where the lines of lyrium met. He sighed, “But I suppose that is a luxury we must set aside.” He let go of the hand. “Alright. Tell Hawke where I am and bring him back here.”

Fenris nodded, stood, and walked away. His immediate compliance no less unnerving than it had been the first time.

Alone again, Anders heaved himself up to sit on the bed and tried to think of unpleasant things with which to quash his erection. _Meredith pleasuring the Mother_. He grimaced. Perhaps something slightly less horrible.

***

When the door opened again, Anders had achieved a sort of weary resignation to the thought of talking to Hawke again.

Hawke came to stand by the bed. “Anders, I’m sorry to have upset you. I know it’s-”

“Don’t.” Anders cut him off. “I don’t want to fight with you again, and I don’t want to discuss it anymore. I’ll do what you want.”

“It’s not about what I-”

“ _Hawke_. That’s not what we need to talk about right now.”

Hawke looked between Anders and Fenris. “Oh.” He raised an eyebrow. “What do you want to talk about, then?”

Anders looked uncomfortably at Fenris, then decided it was cowardly to make the elf explain.

“I don’t know if Merrill told you anything about how it was while you were away this afternoon.”

Hawke shook his head. “Not much. She said you found the whole hand-holding thing distracting, so she’d tried to talk to you to keep your mind off it, and then you’d played cards.”

Anders snorted. “Well, yes. ‘Distracting.’ Bit of an understatement, really.”

Hawke eased himself down to the bed beside him. “I see.”

He sighed. “Look, Hawke, I think it’s fair to say we both appreciate how careful you wanted to be before. But I think we just… We need…” Anders wanted to crawl into a hole inside himself to escape this conversation. “If we keep… in touch like that. Enough to stop Justice from pulling away. Things are going to happen. And I don’t want to betray you. But I also need to be able to… respond to that.”

Hawke’s eyes were wide. Anders could see in the stillness of his face the effort Hawke was putting into not showing his hurt. “I see,” he said again. He turned to look at Fenris. “And how do you feel about this?”

Fenris looked deeply uncomfortable. “I,” he swallowed, “I also… would like to respond. But not without your permission. I’m not a fool. I know to ask for… free reign to be with your lover…”

Hawke looked sharply away. “If it’s what you both want,” Hawke said, stiffly.

Anders took Hawke’s hand. “None of this is what I want,” he told Hawke, miserably. “But I can’t… I can’t keep resisting like this. Merrill was… kind, if that’s all she told you. But even without meaning to… I wasn’t fully in control. I think we must have made her very uncomfortable. _I_ must have. I wouldn’t want to go further than that without talking to you first.”

Hawke closed his eyes. “Well. It’s not like I can say ‘no’, is it?”

“You could,” Anders said, quietly. “But it wouldn’t be easy. And if we have to wait for a reply from Amaranthine, this could go on for a while.” _Please don’t leave me in this state_ , he wanted to beg, but that would have been childish and manipulative.

Hawke sighed, seeming to expel something painful and heavy. He met Anders’ eyes. “Alright. Do what you need to. I understand. But… tell me, either of you,” he looked at Fenris, “if you change your mind, or if something happens that you don’t like, I want to know. I’ll step in. I don’t want you to hurt each other.”

Anders reached for him, then, pulling him into an embrace.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he said, his voice raw.

“I know,” said Hawke.

“You don’t have to be OK with this,” Anders said.

“I’m not,” Hawke replied. “But I don’t want you in pain. I want you to take care of yourself. Do what you need to.”

Anders squeezed him tight. “Thank you,” he whispered in his ear, knowing the words were not enough, because no words ever could be.

Hawke stood, pulling away. “I’ll leave you two alone, then,” he said, turning to go.

Anders’ heart sank. “No,” he said. “You don’t have to go.”

He rose to his feet, taking Hawke’s shoulder and turning him back. What had happened to them that Hawke would just turn and go like that? And how had Anders allowed it?

Pushing Hawke against the bedpost, he kissed him, one hand going to Hawke’s short hair, the other fumbling with the clasps of Hawke’s plate mail.

He broke away from the warmth of Hawke’s lips to look into the bright blue of his eyes. “Don’t go,” he said, his voice rough with need. “That’s not what this is. I’m still yours.” He leant his forehead against Hawke’s, pulling them both together. “I’m still yours. Don’t go.”

Hawke’s hand came up to Anders’ neck, tracing the line of muscle that led down to his clavicle. A small touch, a little reconciliation. “We have guests,” Hawke whispered.

“I don’t care,” Anders said, slipping a buckle free, finding Hawke’s chest through his tunic, under the breast plate. “They can wait. I’m not leaving you. I love you. Please don’t think that I don’t.”

Hawke leant forward into Anders, sucking on his bottom lip, making him moan. Then he broke away, his hand reaching down to redo what Anders had undone. “I can’t just leave them. Everyone’s worried about you. But I’ll be back. I promise.”

And with that, he pulled free of Anders’ grasp again and was gone.

Anders groaned and leant against the bedpost.

The pulse of lyrium alerted Anders to Fenris’s approach before he felt the hand on his back.

“He’s coming back,” Fenris said, that rich, rolling voice close to his ear.

“I know,” Ander’s said, unable to resist leaning back into the touch as Justice’s interest rose within him. A heat spreading across his skin from where he could feel Fenris through his shirt.

“You want to wait for him,” Fenris said, something almost a question.

“Yes,” Anders breathed. But also: “No.”

Fenris’s hand traced up and down between his shoulder blades. “You find me beautiful,” he said, and Anders could hear the smile in his voice. Hear it in the soft huff of breath on his neck.

He turned around to meet Fenris’s gaze, the elf’s hand tracing a path across his back, his arm, his chest. Almost touching the bare skin where his shirt was open at the throat.

“Yes,” he said, eyes raking over the surprisingly fine white hair, the deep green of his eyes, the points of his ears.

He reached out and touched one, his finger crackling with blue light at the contact, Fenris gasping at the stimulation.

“Let me come in you, this time,” he whispered, unaware he would voice the desire until it was out. Pleased by the interest he saw in Fenris’s eyes; unaware he had given the elf another order. “We have hours before I need to take your seed again, maybe the whole night. Let me undo you from beneath.”

“I’d like that,” Fenris said, his voice almost a growl, but expressing nothing but pleasure. He took Anders’ hand from his ear and placed it flat on his armour. “Start here. ‘Undo’ my armour.”

Anders groaned, “Fenris, you humour comes out at the oddest times.”

The elf smirked. He pulled the hand over to a buckle just under his shoulder. “Occupy yourself until Hawke returns. It would not do to be too far along before he can join us.” 

There was something strangely considerate in that.

Anders complied.


	24. Hawke, Fenris, and Anders have sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex. They have sex. That's what this chapter is. Sex. Not much to summarise really. They have sex. And some feels. But mostly sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dub con warning applies for this chapter, mostly because mind-control. Also swearing. Liberal use of the word 'fuck'.

When Hawke entered, it was to the sight of Fenris and Anders kissing. Anders had one hand around Fenris’s waist and another in his hair. They both glowed and flickered, pulsing with passion.

Arousal and jealousy mixed powerfully. He wanted to shove Fenris away and punch him into unconsciousness. He wanted to stand back and enjoy the show. He wanted to join them.

He closed the door quietly behind him and began to strip off his armour.

Anders broke from the kiss and looked at him. His face full of desire and worry, his eyes flashing between blue and brown. He raised his hand from Fenris’s hip and reached towards Hawke.

“In a moment,” Hawke said. “Carry on, I’ll get this off.” His cock twitched at his decision to watch them as he undressed.

He did want this. They were both so beautiful, and so different. His feelings for Fenris had never really gone away. Nor had his attraction. Seeing the elf’s strong, lithe body pressed against Anders. The look of hunger in Anders’ eyes as he looked back at that face, those eyes.

With Hawke’s permission, now, something seemed to have been unleashed in the mage. His hands came to Fenris’s neck, and then his shoulders, and he was pushing forward, shoving Fenris against the wall behind him, the elf groaning with the impact, tugging hungrily at Anders’ trousers as Anders bit down on his neck.

Hawke fumbled quicker with the buckles that tied his armour to him. His breast plate fell to the floor and he was fiddling with his pauldrons. He should have accepted Anders’ help. The could both have had their hands all over him by now. That would have been hot too.

But instead Fenris had shoved down Anders’ trousers, exposing his arse. Powerful, lyrium-lined fingers kneaded the firm flesh, lifting and separating the round muscles. Fenris met Hawke’s eyes and he knew, knew in that moment that Anders was being displayed for his view.

Anders moaned and pulled at the laces of Fenris’s leggings.

Hawke fumbled faster. One pauldron fell, and then the other. Maker, why were there so many pieces to his armour?

Having freed Anders’ arse, it seemed that Fenris wanted to see the rest of him. As Hawke watched, the elf pushed back to create space between them and reached up to the top of Anders’ shirt. Grabbing the fabric in both fists, he ripped it apart. Once, twice, and Anders’ chest was exposed. Fenris’s hands greedily explored his muscles. Enjoying the secret Hawke had known: under his robes, Anders was built surprisingly well for a mage, his Grey Warden training never neglected, hours of fighting with a staff leaving him strong and lean.

But it wasn’t enough for the elf. As Hawke divested himself of his armour, so Fenris was freeing Anders from fabric. He ripped at his sleeves, first left and then right, pulling the tattered material from the mage, exposing his shapely shoulders. Fuck.

Anders, in turn, tugged at Fenris’s tunic. “Now you,” he said hoarsely, and pulled the shirt up and over Fenris’s unresisting arms.

Fenris met Hawke’s eyes again and shoved Anders back towards the bed until he fell against it, trousers and smalls around his ankles, everything else exposed.

Fenris stepped slowly out of his leggings and arched his back as he surveyed Anders. And Hawke knew, again, the elf was making sure he could enjoy the view.

 _Fuck_.

Freed of his armour, his was shoving his own leggings down, gasping as his erect member was exposed to the air.

Fenris was leaning over Anders now, his hands on the man’s shoulders, his expression predatory. His shapely arse pointed at Hawke.

 _Fuck_.

As Hawke divested himself of his shirt and strode towards them, Anders turned tables on the elf, twisting them round until Fenris was flat against the bed and Anders was pressed against him.

“You said you’d let me come in you,” Anders said.

“Yes,” Fenris breathed.

“You’ll take it from me.” He lifted up a muscular leg, exposing Fenris’s hole.

“Yes,” Fenris said, hunger in his eyes.

 _He’s ordering him_ , Hawke said, desperate to join in, now, but unable to shake the disquiet.

He grabbed Anders from behind, pressing his own hard cock against Anders’ butt cheeks. He ran a hand under the mage’s arm, up his chest, to his neck.

“Is that what you want, Fenris?” Hawke asked, holding his lover back, his cock throbbing between them.

“Yes,” Fenris said, meeting Hawke’s eyes. “It’s OK. I want this.” The elf’s eyes slid back to Anders. “Command me,” he said, and Hawke felt the shiver that ran through Anders.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” the man said, and Hawke released him.

He stepped back to reach for the oil he usually kept beside their bed… and remembered that this was not his bedroom. There was nothing here.

“Anders,” he said, his hand gripping a cheek, remembering Fenris’s hand there. “I don’t have any…”

“Mmmm, my pocket,” Anders moaned. “I have a little…” Fenris did something Hawke couldn’t see that made Anders gasp.

Hawke stooped and felt through the clothes on the floor until he found a small glass bottle.

“You’re keeping lube in your pockets now,” Hawke said.

“It’s been a weird few days – ah,” the mage gasped, and from this angle Hawke could see Fenris grasping both of their cocks in his hand, squeezing, pulling.

He tipped a small amount of the oil into his hand and thrust the bottle at Anders. “Here.”

Anders stood up and began coating his own member. Fenris levered himself up on the bed and was stroking Anders cock again. “Mmm,” the mage moaned, his eyes closed.

Hawke smiled and worked a well-oiled finger into Anders’ hole.

“Oh!” Anders gasped. “Maker!”

The bottle was stoppered and tossed to the bed. Anders pressed back into Hawke’s hand, and he commanded Fenris. “Raise your leg.”

The elf obeyed, smiling, and Anders looped the limb up over his shoulder as he pressed one finger to the rim of Fenris’s hole.

Hawke timed his insertion of a second finger to match when Anders penetrated Fenris.

“ _Fuck!_ ” the mage exclaimed.

Fenris squirmed on the bed beneath them. “More,” he demanded.

Anders obliged, and Hawke worked a third finger into the mage’s hole.

Anders gasped wordlessly, pressing back against Hawke’s hand. Hawke found the sweet spot inside his lover with the ease of practice and smiled as the man’s hips jerked.

He pulled back, allowing Anders to prepare Fenris without further distraction until he was sure both men were ready.

When he was sure they were, Anders’ fingers slipping from Fenris’s hole, Hawke put his hands on Anders’ hips to steady him and pressed his head between the mage’s cheeks.

“Now?” he asked.

“Yes,” Anders breathed, “Yes. Please.”

He thrust deep into his lover and delighted in the moaned response.

He pulled back, allowed Anders to position himself for Fenris, felt the muscles shift beneath his fingers, and thrust again, just as Anders pulled forward.

Anders and Fenris cried out together.

Hawke panted against Anders’ back, revelling in the pressure that was Anders, all around him, surrounding his cock. Knowing that Anders was buried in Fenris, feeling as though he was fucking them both.

They began to build a rhythm, then, not always in time. Hawke thrilled at the sensation of Anders rocking against him as he pounded Fenris, watching the elf come undone beneath them both.

“Moan for me,” Anders commanded. And Fenris did.

“Take it; take all of me.” The elf thrust his hips up so Anders could enter him to the hilt. Hawke pressed himself forward so that he was flush with Anders from behind.

They both pulled back, and in again.

Fenris cried out, and Hawke could see his arm moving frantically between himself and Anders, rubbing his own cock.

Anders’ rhythm increased, providing delightful friction against Hawke’s cock. Hawke moaned and heard Fenris’s voice mixed with his.

“I’m close,” the elf gasped. “Tell me – tell me when to come. Command me. I want to come with you, master, I-”

Hawke felt Anders twitch and still beneath him. They’d both heard that. Did Fenris realise what he was saying?

The elf squirmed underneath them. “Don’t stop. Please, I’m so close.”

Anders began to move again, pounding faster now, but less with passion and more with determination to finish. Hawk allowed himself to be taken along with it. He had been close himself. They would need to talk about this, but…

But…

Thought blurred with sensation to nothingness. Anders’ rhythm slowed. He pumped once, twice, “Come for me, Fenris,” he breathed, and Hawke felt Anders climax beneath him as he thrust one last time and the muscles of his arse closed around his own penis as Fenris cried out. He came with them.

They did not lay long on top of one another, and the look Anders gave him as he pulled away from Fenris spoke volumes.

They sat down on either side of the elf, panting.

Anders laid a hand on the man’s neck. “Fenris, look at me.” The elf’s eyes snapped open and Anders cursed softly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that as a command. I think… I think maybe we shouldn’t have played with that.”

“No,” Fenris said, stroking Anders’ arm. “I liked it. I told you to do that. It felt… good.”

Anders blanched. “I can’t imagine you ever telling me of your own free will that that it felt good for me to command you. Fenris, this… isn’t right. It’s-”

“It’s alright,” Fenris reassured him.

“Was it alright for you when you called him ‘master’?” Hawke asked, drawing the elf’s gaze.

“What? I-” Fenris said, frowning. “I didn’t…”

“You did,” Anders said. “And I would like to _ask_ ,” he went on, “For you to not do that again. Please?”

Fenris looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry. It, it creeps in. To my way of thinking. It’s just the spell.”

Hawke stared at him. They both did.

“Well of course it’s the spell!” Anders snapped. “Don’t – you can’t – doesn’t that make you angry?”

Fenris pulled himself up on the bed. “ _Yes_ , Anders, _it makes me angry_. But being angry doesn’t make it go away.” He glared at the mage until Anders looked down, flushing a bright red that coloured his neck and the top of his chest in blotches.

“Sorry,” Anders said. “That was stupid.” He groaned and lay back on the bed. “Sorry.”

Fenris sighed and lay back too. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Thank you for not wanting it,” he said, stiffly. “It… it’s not what I would have expected from a mage.” Anders shot him a dark look, but held back whatever objection he’d wanted to make to that. “You could use me far worse than you have.”

“No, I couldn’t,” Anders said.

Fenris closed his eyes. “No, perhaps not. Thank you.”

As they lay there, next to each other but not touching, something like a companionable silence growing between them, Hawke found himself on the outside again. Stupid to be jealous of something that was causing them both so much pain, but hard to deny.

He cleared his throat. “I, umm, I’ll get us some tea, I think.”

It was an unconvincing excuse, but he needed to give them some space and allow himself to take his jealousy somewhere that was not here, with the two of them naked, sprawled on the bed.

Anders looked at him with a tired smile that spoke of gratitude. He understood.


	25. Fenris learns a thing or two about Anders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders tries to get Fenris to open up about how the spell is affecting him, but Fenris is good at deflecting. Fenris learns a bit more about what Anders suffered through in the Circle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one, but I suspect the next chapter may be quite long... (I have not forgotten about Danarius, and he has not forgotten about our boys...)

As the door closed behind Hawke, Anders rolled over, pulling the rumpled blanket over himself and groaning.

Fenris sat up and looked at him. “Is that helping?”

“Yes,” came the muffled reply.

He pulled the blanket down, exposing the mage’s face. “I don’t believe you.”

Anders rolled his eyes, looking up at Fenris with his gold-red hair tangled about his head. “Look at you,” he said, freeing an arm to stroke Fenris’s own hair. “You even look good all mussed like that. I didn’t even know your hair could get mussed, you always keep it so perfect.”

A warmness stirred in Fenris at being so admired by his master. He grimaced and looked away.

“What?” asked Anders. “What did I say? Is it… is it because he shaped how you look?”

Fenris turned to glare at him. “It _wasn’t_.”

Anders pulled a face. “Sorry. I just… do you want to talk about it?”

He raised an eyebrow. “About Danarius? Or about how good it feels to know that my _new_ master admires my body?”

Anders winced. “I – I didn’t…”

“I know that, mage.” He wasn’t sure why he kept antagonising the man. He did know it wasn’t Anders’ fault. Perhaps it was simply habit.

Anders sat up, the blanket pooling in his lap, exposing his surprisingly well-toned chest. “It might help to talk about it, though.”

The man didn’t know when to stop. “Would it?” he said. “And perhaps you would like to talk about how you are host to what is rapidly becoming a desire demon.”

Anders took a sharp breath and looked down at his hands. But he surprised Fenris when he looked back up and said, “Perhaps I would.”

“You… think that’s what’s happening, then?” Fenris asked.

The mage shrugged and cleared his throat. “I don’t know. It would be more usual for a spirit of justice to become some kind of rage demon, if it were corrupted. I have often worried that he was being corrupted by my anger,” he admitted. “But this is… this is definitely Justice’s drives we’re feeling. Not just the spell. And Justice… should not be feeling this way.”

“I’m sorry,” Fenris said. Anders shrugged. “Perhaps we should find a way to distract Justice, as well as ourselves.”

Anders met his gaze, surprised. “That’s actually not a bad idea. We should definitely think of something to do besides sex and waiting for either the Wardens or Danarius to find us.”

Fenris stooped to pick up his leggings. “In the meantime, we should probably get dressed.”

“You haven’t made that easy for me, you know,” Anders said.

“What?”

He gestured to the mangled remains of his shirt. “The clothes ripping thing. It’s definitely hot, but I really don’t have enough spares for it.” He got up to fetch his trousers, and for the first time, Fenris saw his back.

It was riddled with scars, and, for the most part, they were not the scars of battle. Anders was a healer, a very good one. He knew how to mend a wound without it scarring. Whoever had tended these wounds had not had his skill; if anyone had tended them at all. And most were far too straight and regular. The unmistakable marks of whips and straps.

Anders turned back as he pulled his trousers on and caught Fenris staring. “What?”

“Your back,” Fenris said.

“Oh,” Anders said. “That.”

The look Anders gave him was more shielded than he’d expected. He would have thought the mage would be pleased at his shock, to say he’d told Fenris so. But Anders didn’t elaborate.

“You said you’d been lucky,” Fenris said, but wondered to himself why he was surprised. It wasn’t that he hadn’t believed Anders, the man clearly had some cause for his endless rants, but Fenris had always supposed that Anders had no idea what true slavery and suffering was. Mages had their freedoms restricted, but it was for the good of everyone. And Circles were seats of learning and education. Anders had no idea his privilege; simply being able to read was more than Fenris had ever imagined.

“I _was_ lucky,” Anders said shortly. “They didn’t kill me. They didn’t rape me. And they didn’t make me Tranquil. I escaped seven times. In Kirkwall just one attempt would be enough for the brand. First Enchanter Irvine had me put in solitary for a year. It was a kindness. I should be dead.” His tone was remarkably even, as though he was merely listing facts. But he couldn’t quite conceal the tension in his voice when he spoke of his experience as ‘kindness’.

“A year,” Fenris said. Danarius had sometimes used such treatment on slaves. A week. Maybe two. Never Fenris. He was too valuable. But he’d seen it. The slaves came back thoroughly broken.

The mage nodded, but didn’t meet his gaze, busying himself picking up the remains of his shirt.

Fenris approached him. “Anders – for a year?” He reached out to touch him, but Anders flinched away.

“It was a long time ago,” Anders said.

 _How is he even sane?_ Fenris wondered. And then, hard on the heels of that: _he is not sane. He allowed himself to be possessed by a demon._ And then… _Not a demon, a spirit. What is it he said about Justice? He was a friend. He took a friend into his body_. “And now,” Fenris said, voicing his thought, “you are never alone.”

Anders met his eyes, daring judgement. “That’s right.”

“You… should not have done it,” Fenris said, realising that he should keep his mouth shut, but somehow speaking anyway. “This was not the answer.”

“Oh,” said Anders, “it was the answer to a great many things. Including my immediate physical danger at the time.” A pause, and then. “No. I probably shouldn’t have done it. But unless you’re suddenly happy for this spell to take its course, we can’t undo it. So.”

Fenris was shocked to hear him admit it, but Anders didn’t give him time to respond. “Why don’t you go up to Hawke’s room and find me one of his shirts? I can’t wear this, and I don’t think Orana needs to see my back either.”

Fenris nodded. “Yes, of course. I – I will buy you a new shirt,” he said, then shrugged on his own tunic and made his retreat from the room.


	26. A Hawke filling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders writes his letter and the boys go to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to stop speculating in these notes about what will happen next chapter, things have a habit of taking longer than I expect. Anyway, enjoy a little bit of fluff with a side of angst.

Anders was dressed in a high-collared blue shirt by the time Hawke returned with the tea. Fenris had dithered in front of Hawke’s wardrobe, feeling intrusive to be riffling through his things, as though Hawke had not been fucking him through Anders bare minutes ago. He had also been unsure what kind of shirt Anders would like. With irritation at his own thoughts, he’d snatched the blue one roughly from its hanger, dismissing the part of his mind that thought it would go well with the mage’s hair.

It did. It did go well with the mage’s hair. Hair which was now uncharacteristically loose about his neck, just skirting his shoulders. Fenris squashed the urge to run his fingers through it.

Anders left soon with his tea to go write his letter. It had grown quite late, but they had agreed it was best written tonight and sent as soon as possible by raven in the morning.

Fenris found himself unsure how to act in the aftermath of their love-making. Well, their fucking.

There was an easiness to how Hawke and Anders moved from thrusting together to talking to touching and kissing to parting… None of the actions seemed unnatural or hesitant. They were lovers, of course. That was what it was to be lovers. And Fenris… had never had that.

His parting from Hawke the one time they had been together had been anything but natural or easy. And as for Danarius… no. He wouldn’t even think of that.

He found himself sad that Anders had left so quickly. He realised he had hoped that sitting together, drinking tea afterwards, he might find some of that communion with them. That he might learn what it was to sit companionably with someone after lovemaking.

It felt awkward to sit with Hawke in the midst of the mess they had made, and soon they both followed Anders to the library. He sipped quietly at his tea whilst they waited for the mage to be done. He pulled away from the part of his mind that whispered that there _were_ familiar paths of behaviour he could rely on. A simple stillness and silence whilst his master went about his work until he was needed again.

No.

He had fallen too easily into that. It had been embarrassing that this inner submissiveness had shown itself to both Hawke and Anders, but their shock and outrage on his behalf had been useful. Reminded him that this was not natural or good, however _familiar_ it felt.

A frown and pursed lips, a cultivated irritation with Anders for prolonging this awkward silence – it was unkind, but these things were familiar in a fresher kind of way. He clung to his aggravation. Anger was an emotion he knew was his own.

It was perhaps fortunate that Anders’ eyes barely flicked his way as he stood and pressed the letter into Hawke’s hand.

“There,” the mage said, sadness and resignation replacing the fury and fear with which he had faced the prospect of writing to his commander earlier.

“It will be OK,” Hawke told him, pulling Anders into his embrace before tucking the envelope in a pocket. “Come,” he said, pulling back from the mage, “we’re all tired. Let’s go to bed.” And then, to Fenris’s chagrin, he turned to the elf. “It’s up to you. You can sleep in the room you had last night, if you like. But with what Merrill said… you can sleep with us, if you’d prefer,” Hawke glanced at Anders, questioning, and the mage nodded. “But if you do I’ll sleep in the middle,” Hawke surprised Fenris by blushing and looking away. “I mean… I just think it would be safer. You should be together, but not…”

Anders chuckled. “It’s OK, Hawke. You can be the filling in a Fenris/Anders sandwich if you want.”

Hawke made a noise and lifted his hands to hide his face. “That’s not what I meant. That’s not-”

“I know, love.” Anders leant in and pecked one of Hawke’s hands, chastely.

Hawke recovered himself, and they were both looking at Fenris expectantly.

“It’s up to you,” Hawke said again. “You don’t have to.”

Here again he was completely at a loss. He had been invited into their bed and he didn’t know how to respond. Even with Hawke’s embarrassment and Anders’ teasing, the two men had talked so easily with each other about this.

“No, I – I’m sure you’re right. Yes,” he said. “I think that would be best. Thank you.”

And so they had retreated to Hawke’s room.

Hawke had lent him pyjamas, which swamped his slender frame, and they had lain down together, just as Hawke had suggested: Fenris closest to the door, Hawke at his back, and Anders on the other side.

He could feel the mage behind him in the darkness. Their connection was not as all-consuming as it had been before, when simply being in the man’s presence would cause Fenris’s brands to flare. The blood mage seemed to have been right. In being constantly together, the spirit’s reaching for him was less urgent, less desperate. He could sense both Anders and Justice, lying just beyond the human barrier that was Hawke, but he did not feel a pressing need to draw the man closer.

Finally, the tensions of the day unwound around him, and he was able to rest.

***

Hawke woke to find Anders’ freckled arm thrown across him, holding Fenris’s hand in a light grip. He could tell from the soft breathing that surrounded him that both men were still asleep. Their peacefulness in each other’s company was a marvel, even if it were unconscious.

He shifted carefully, so that he could look at Fenris, who had turned towards him in the night.

The man’s face was smooth and free of the worry and frowns that usually graced it. His age was impossible to guess – Fenris himself did not know – but he looked younger this way. If not for the white tattoos at his chin and throat, he might be any other elf. Easy to imagine him as vulnerable and in need of protection.

He was by no means vulnerable physically, of course, but it was a good reminder that Fenris was vulnerable in many other ways. He and Anders both needed to take better care of their friend.

Regretfully, he freed a hand from the covers and gently pushed white hair back from Fenris’s face. “Hey,” he said.

Fenris’s eyes flew open, the sleep-wide pupils narrowing to a pinprick. The hand that had been loosely clasped in Anders’ snatched Hawke’s wrist in a grip so hard it ground the bones together.

Hawke cried out in pain, and Anders’ arm pulled protectively against him, blue light filling the room.

“Ah – no, stop!” he gasped. “It’s OK – Anders, it’ OK.”

“ _You will not harm him!_ ”

_Oh Maker, not now._

Fenris had released his arm instantly at the command.

“ _Justice_ ,” Hawke said. “I’m _fine_. Back off.”

A second in which his wrist throbbed and blue light pulsed around them. Then the light faded. The bed shifted as Anders levered himself up. 

“What happened?” His voice was thick from sleep. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t awake. What did I do?”

“Nothing,” Hawke sighed. “It was my fault. I just need to be a bit more careful in waking up-” _the prickly elf_ – no, that wasn’t fair, “-our friend. Sorry, Fenris.”

The shock of waking and Justice’s command seemed to be fading from the elf’s face. He pulled his own hand back under the covers. His expression – concern? guilt? anger? – was a long journey from the serenity Hawke had seen in his sleep. “No, I – that was uncalled for. The demon was right to defend you.”

Anders groaned behind him. “What did he do?”

“Nothing,” Hawke repeated, reaching up to reassure Anders before remembering his hand was injured, and wincing.

“He told me to stop hurting Hawke,” Fenris corrected. “Which was not unreasonable.”

Anders frowned at Fenris, but turned his attention to Hawke’s arm. “Let me see that.”

Hawke made a small noise at his touch, but allowed himself to be examined.

Blissful, cool, healing magic washed over his wrist, and the pain was gone. Anders kissed it, the soft warm lips a comfort and a thrill.

“I didn’t mean to command you,” Anders said, quietly over Hawke’s head. “I don’t want you to hurt Hawke, but, umm, please don’t consider it a command.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Fenris said. “I’m sorry. It was… instinct.”

Not for the first time, Hawke wondered how many times Fenris had woken to an unwelcome touch. The way the man had reacted when they’d made love that one time… Fenris had never said Danarius had used him for more than a bodyguard, but it was hard not to wonder.

Of course, what the magister had done to his skin would be enough to make anyone wary of touch. In all honesty, he was surprised Fenris had accepted so much contact from Anders over the past few days, but perhaps that was the spell.

“You don’t have to apologise for that,” Hawke said. “Ever. I’m fine. I’ll use my voice next time.”

“Thank you,” the elf said, quietly.

Awake, now, they set about getting up.


	27. In which Anders wants to give something to Fenris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Against Hawke's reservations, Anders takes Fenris down to his clinic to provide Justice with a distraction. In a lull between patients, Anders takes a moment to give Fenris some attention. Ear-fondling ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been wanting to write in some proper ear-fondling for a while :) 
> 
> WARNING: brief mention of past torture - brief, but graphic.

“I’ve been thinking over what you said,” Anders remarked as they were finishing up breakfast, “about finding something else to distract Justice.”

“Oh?” Fenris asked, “This… isn’t where you rope me in to attacking the Gallows, is it?”

He was surprised by the tingle of warmth he felt at the mage’s lop-sided smile. “No, I’m not quite that suicidal, and I’ve no intention of exposing any of my contacts to you. I know whatever this is… is only temporary. But there are a lot of things Justice would usually find more worthwhile than lounging around Hawke’s bedroom becoming acquainted with your body.” Anders’ hand slipped casually under the table and ran firmly along Fenris’s muscular thigh for emphasis. Heat rose in the elf’s ears, but he found himself grinning in response.

Whatever this was, as Anders had put it, was changing, he realised. Was he… genuinely enjoying the mage’s company? There was certainly a background warmth that came from knowing that his master enjoyed his presence, enjoyed touching his body, but there was also… something of an understanding. Had bickering become teasing? There was a joy that seemed to be his own, and not the spell’s, in finding his needling could now make the man smile, rather than frown.

Perhaps he was imagining it. Or perhaps the mage was gratified by his newfound ownership. The thought soured his tentative affection. It was entirely possible. Had Anders not enjoyed commanding him during sex? _No_ , he told that rebellious, suspicious part of him. _Only when you asked him to. He didn’t want you to call him ‘master’. He asked you not to do it again_.

True. But would he have said that if Hawke hadn’t been there?

 _How many times has he refused to take advantage, even when you begged him? Has he not forgiven you for taking advantage of_ him _? What will it take for you to trust him?_

What would it take for him to trust any mage? Anders might not be malicious, but he was a fool. He had taken a spirit into his body, which was precisely why they were in this mess. That decision could yet see Fenris enslaved fully, or worse, possessed, bound to the Anders’ will, whether he wished it or not. Or to Danarius.

This was a bad line of thought. No good would come of it.

“What did you have in mind?” Fenris asked, pulling himself back to the conversation.

“Come with me to the clinic,” said Anders. “I’ve been neglecting my patients. The people of Darktown have nowhere else to go. I’ll only be using healing magic and it’s an activity Justice encourages. He’s aware we’ve been neglecting our duty there, I think it will pull him out.”

Hawke was frowning. “Anders, Darktown is hardly safe. And I can’t ask Aveline to put a couple guards on a clinic where you illegally practise magic.”

“Where I illegally heal the poor, you mean?” Anders asked, his voice taking an edge.

“Hey,” Hawke took his hand. “You know that’s not how I think of it. But Aveline is constantly taking risks for you and for Merrill. She’s Captain of the Guard, there are some things she just can’t do and keep that position. And I don’t want to dangle you and Fenris out where Danarius can take you without a fight!”

“So we’ll just hole up here, fucking each other, shall we?” the mage was getting heated now, “And you’ll just join in the fun whenever you feel like it? Must be everything you ever dreamed of when you had us both on the hook all those years.”

Fenris stared. Surely that was… what? Unfair? Had he not said as much to Hawke himself? Had he really imagined that he was the only one unsettled by how quickly Hawke had moved from his bed to the mage’s? Of course, it had been easy to picture Anders as stealing Hawke away from him, but the warrior had always been liberal with his affections. He was easy to like. Easy to fall in love with. And, after all, Fenris had left him.

“Anders, no!” Hawke was saying. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it!”

“What I _know_ Hawke, is that I need to take a _shit_. And that really didn’t used to be such a big deal. Certainly not something I had to share with the _group_.” Anders was trembling, now. Fenris’s stomach sank. He recognised the look in Anders’ eyes. The anger and helplessness that came of knowing that one’s body was not entirely one’s own. Had he really thought that Anders might be enjoying this? 

“But once I do that,” Anders was saying, “Once I take a fucking shit, I need to find something else for Justice to focus on, or he’s really only going to have one thing on his mind. And if I give into that I’ll be unconscious for four hours. And then that will be my life – shagging Fenris and falling asleep, with you joining in as and when you please, until Randara gets here. And won’t _she_ be happy to find out how her two missing wardens have been spending their time – sucking _fucking_ lyrium elf cock!”

“OK,” Hawke held up his hands. “OK, Anders, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He put a hand up to Anders’ face, but the mage jerked his chin free of Hawke’s grasp. “Please. You’re right. I wasn’t thinking. Of course you can go down to the clinic. I just – I just want you to be safe. I’ll come with you. And maybe Varric too?”

Anders seemed to have calmed a bit, but Fenris could see he still chafed at Hawke’s manner. To be _permitted_ to do what you wanted wasn’t the same as being free. Anders might be his master, but they were both trapped and made vulnerable by this spell. “I’m sure that’ll put my patients at ease. Come down to the clinic! Right past the three heavily armed men!”

Hawke opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it again. He had at least enough sense to realise that there wasn’t going to be a good response he could make right now.

Fenris gently laid a hand on Anders arm. “It is a good idea. To go to your clinic.” Fenris knew he sounded awkward. Calming angry mages was not exactly his specialty. “But we should not go alone. Danarius…”

“I know,” the mage said, quietly. He sighed and rubbed his face, the fight going out of him. “I _know_. Alright. But try not to make a nuisance of yourselves, OK?”

It was agreed. Hawke would take Anders’ letter to Varric, who would arrange a swift raven for it, then the two of them would return to the estate so that they could all go to Darktown together. Anders was not pleased by the arrangement, but Fenris understood that he was more angry with their situation than he was with Hawke.

Whilst the warrior was gone, Anders excused himself. He did not have to say he was visiting the latrine, the knowledge burned uncomfortably between them.

They had relocated to the library, and when Anders returned he seated himself at his desk as though to write, ignoring Fenris.

“Are you alright?” he found himself asking.

“Fine,” the mage said shortly. Then he sighed. “Sorry. This…” he gestured to his midsection. “It seemed a lot funnier when Merrill first told me.” He grimaced. “You must think I’m being incredibly childish. I know this is worse for you.”

“Sometimes,” Fenris conceded. “But I think it’s less… physically taxing.”

Anders gave him that same lopsided smile that had warmed him before – sadder, this time, but still with a sense of fellow feeling, of understanding, that made Fenris feel that something had changed between them.

Anders was frustrated with how long it took Hawke to return, but once he did the mage brightened. Being able to move with purpose cheered him.

Being in his clinic again cheered him more.

He didn’t light the lamp right away. He’d given out most of his potions to the young woman he’d met on the way back from the meeting with Sir Thrask. He set Fenris to work with efficiency.

“Fenris, would you…” he paused. “You still need me to give you commands, I suppose?”

“Yes,” Fenris replied, cursing himself at his relief that the mage had remembered without being reminded.

“Can I… may I give you little things to do here? Just tell you to do them and leave it at that? Would that be alright?”

“Yes,” he said again. “Thank you.”

Anders gave him another sad little smile, and a bunch of dried elfroot. “Chop these, then. Finely.”

The first few hours of the day were thus passed in relative peace. It wasn’t work Fenris was used to, but it was easy, and the mage seemed more content than he had been in days. The urgent pressure to be together that had been building eased itself. Both Anders and Justice wanted him to assist at the clinic. It was a harmony of purpose that suited them all.

Hawke was rather less at ease. He seemed eager to make up for their argument by helping as much as he could, but mostly seemed to be underfoot and in the way. When Anders decided he was ready to light the lamp and let in patients, Hawke announced he would scout the area to make sure they were not being watched.

Varric was rather more experienced at melting into the background. He busied himself with small tasks without instruction from Anders, and proved adept at putting patients at their ease whilst they waited for Anders’ attention.

There were quite a few. Fenris had been in Anders’ clinic before and knew the mage was often reluctant to leave when Hawke had a job for them, but the number of people who were waiting for Anders when his doors opened surprised him.

Many of the ailments were small, but watching him work, Fenris realised that without someone to care for them, such conditions quickly snowballed to affect these people’s lives. One woman wept and kissed him just for mending a sprained ankle. “I ahn’t been able to work for days. Thank you, messere, thank you.” The woman tried to force a pair of onions on him in payment, but he refused.

This turned out to be a common occurrence. Men and women who hadn’t been able to work without the mage’s help presented a bewildering assortment of trinkets and foodstuffs as thanks. Very few offered actual coin. Almost all of them, he refused.

But there was a very definite line between some patients and others. Amongst the poor of Darktown the wealthier rogues and Carter members seeking help away from prying eyes received no less careful treatment from Anders, but they all left with lighter purses. He watched as the coins were counted into a little box and Anders noted their amounts in a small ledger.

Anders caught his eyes once. “They can afford it,” he said, defensively.

“I know,” Fenris said, “I didn’t-” But the mage had already turned away, waving his hand.

Eventually, the rush of people who had been waiting for the healer’s return abated. Fenris had busied himself at the back of the clinic, washing out bloody bandages with the astringent soap Anders had told him was needed for them. He felt as much as heard the mage’s approach.

Not that Anders would ever be a stealthy man, but Fenris was becoming used to having a subtle awareness of where the mage was – a connection between the lyrium in Fenris’s skin and the spirit that possessed Anders.

“Hi,” Anders said, close enough for Fenris to feel his breath on the sensitive skin of his ear, but not yet touching. _He’s letting me know he’s there_ , Fenris realised. _He doesn’t want to surprise me, after this morning_. It was unnecessary, but he appreciated it.

“Hello,” Fenris said, smiling, but not turning around.

Anders looped his arms around Fenris’s waist. There was a light tremble in them. The mage was tired. More tired than he allowed himself to show in front of his patients.

“I thought the point of this was so you didn’t have to touch me all the time,” Fenris teased.

The arms instantly withdrew. “Sorry, I – sorry. You’re right.”

Stupid. Stupid to think he could have the kind of easy, teasing exchange that Hawke and Anders shared. “No,” he said, turning. “I didn’t mean for you to stop. I’m not – I’m not experienced… at this. I’ve said the wrong thing.”

Anders smiled tentatively. “Then… you don’t mind?”

“No,” Fenris said, surprised to feel his pulse quicken.

Anders’s smile broadened. “Then turn back around.”

Fenris looked at him quizzically, but obeyed. He didn’t think Anders had meant to command him, but he didn’t mind, in any case. He wanted to know where this was going.

“I wanted to try something,” Anders said, his hands slipping back around Fenris’s waist, his breath against the elf’s skin. “You can tell me ‘no’, if you don’t want it. But... do you – do you like having your ears touched?”

Fernis’s flush was immediate, and he could tell from the mage’s soft chuckle that the heat had reddened his ears. He was definitely interested in that, but…

“I’m… not sure,” he said. “Hadriana… liked to cut me. In sensitive places.”

The arms remained around his waist, but he felt Anders draw back. “That’s OK, it was just a thought. We don’t have to do that.”

“No,” Fenris said, half turning to meet Anders’ gaze. “I’d like to. I’d like to form some new memories. Please.”

Anders looked at him, considering, then nodded. “Alright. But tell me at any point if you want me to stop.”

He leant back in, and Fenris felt the gentlest brush of Anders’ lips upon the peak of his ear.

 _Snip_. The sound of sharpened sewing scissors and a flush of warmth like blood – bright pain and-

And no, that wasn’t here and now, that was the past. Anders wouldn’t hurt him. Had him completely at his mercy for days and hadn’t hurt him once. He couldn’t repress a shudder, but…

Anders pulled away. “Would you like me to stop?”

“No, please,” Fenris said, his voice quiet, mixed pain and desire.

Soft lips on his ear again, and this time it brought a pleasurable shiver, like a taut thread being strummed, vibrating down through his body.

And then Anders’ tongue, warm and moist-

-like blood, running down his ear, and-

No. Not like that. Like warmth and gentleness. Someone tending him solely for his pleasure and oh – what was this? What was this connection between his ears and his cock that made this so…

It was warm and moist and _Maker_ it was the mage’s saliva slowly cooling on him and it should be disgusting, but it wasn’t, it was…

He moaned. Felt Anders smile against his ear.

“Good?”

“Yes,” he breathed.

“Everything has been so desperate,” Anders whispered, his lips moving against Fenris’s ear, his breath a caress. “So driven. And I’ve just been taking from you. I wanted to give something back.”

His tongue moved up the edge of Fenris’s ear again, and then the whole tip was encased in warm, touch, indescribable tingling.

This was nothing like anything Hadriana had done.

And then Anders sucked. It was delicate, not too hard, and yet…

Fenris’s cock stiffened as though it was there the mage had applied his mouth.

“Oh…”

Those lips drawing back again, another smile.

“You weren’t just taking from me,” Fenris breathed. “That first time… I-”

“That was Justice,” Anders cut him off. “He didn’t know what he was doing and he didn’t know what he wanted, but that wasn’t your fault.”

Lips enveloped his ear again, deeper this time, taking almost all the sensitive flesh into his mouth, cutting off all thought.

Then, on his other ear, a finger, tracing the inner swirl.

 _Oh Maker_.

He was hard, now, and twitching. He’d heard of this. That elves did this for each other, when they were in love. He’d never thought to have it. He hadn’t thought humans knew how. Not like this. Not so thoroughly. Not-

Anders lips were drawing back, leaving his flushed ear to cool, but then his tongue was back, tracing the same curves his finger found on Fenris’s other ear, dipping into the hole, along the ridge of cartilage that protected it, then back up along the edge again.

Fenris was panting now, shuddering with pleasure. How was he doing this? How did he know how to do this?

As Anders took his ear in his mouth again, teeth barely grazing the sensitive skin, Fenris thought he might come just from this. But Anders was attentive as ever. He reached his free hand down, worked it under Fenris’s leggings, found the tip of his cock, and rubbed.

Fenris gasped.

Anders sucked on his ear, harder this time, whilst rubbing down on the stiff length of his cock.

He rocked forward into Anders’ hand, which drew his ear from the mage’s mouth, but only for a moment. And then that skilful tongue was running over the folds of his ear again whilst one hand rubbed his cock and the other ran the dry edges of his other ear.

It was too much – no, not too much. But _so much_. So much sensation.

He was rocking against Anders now, lost in the wash of stimulation, building and building until at last…

He cried out, jerked against Anders’ hand, spasmed, came into the waiting grip.

Collapsed against him.

“ _Where_ did you learn to do that?” he asked, leaning against the mage for support.

That laugh again; pleased, not mocking. “Surely Isabella told you how I met her the first time.”

 _A brothel in Denerim_. “Oh.” He realised he sounded disappointed. Perhaps he was a bit. It seemed such an… intimate act. That people would sell it. That Anders…

He looked up at him. “I didn’t think…? Did you…?”

Anders grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he said. But then he pushed Fenris forwards, freeing the hand that had been down his leggings – which had caught most, but not all of his spunk. He rinsed it quickly in the sudsy water. “You’d best clean up, too. And maybe get some more water? I latched the door when Varric went to check on Hawke, but I’d best open it again before people start to wonder.”

Fenris could only stare at him, still dazed from his orgasm. He hadn’t even thought of Varric. Thank the Maker for the mage’s presence of mind.

He caught Anders’ arm as he moved away. “Thank you,” he said, quietly. “I-” he didn’t know how to finish the thought, but he didn’t have to.

Anders’s tired smile said that he understood. “Like I said: I wanted to give you something, that’s all.”

And then he was gone, opening the door to a curious dwarf and a young mother carrying a child.


	28. Enter Danarius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders talks to Hawke about his fears for how Fenris will feel once the spell is lifted. Meanwhile, their activities in Darktown have not gone unnoticed by Danarius, who finally makes his move.

By the time they returned to Hawke’s estate that evening, Anders was tired, but pleased with how the day had gone. Justice was relatively content with the work they had done, and that it had kept the elf close to them. He felt almost enough in harmony with the spirit to own that as his own, as though they were of one mind again. That he, as a single being, felt content with the work they had done (and that it had kept the elf close).

Almost.

Justice had muttered that he had not taken the opportunity to lick more of the elf when he had been paying such close attention to Fenris’s ears. There was no lyrium in the elf’s ears. It was maddening that the spirit was so obsessed he couldn’t see the _justice_ in giving something back to Fenris that was solely about pleasing the elf.

Anders was pulled from his thoughts by Hawke drawing him aside. They had found Merrill waiting for them, playing with the dog, but with a look from Hawke, she had retreated to the library with Fenris and Varric.

“Hey, how are you doing?” Hawke asked.

“Better, I think,” Anders said. “Tired, but better. Thank you for letting me do that. I know it must have been boring for you and Varric, but it really did help. To be able to work _with_ Fenris, and not just… well. You know.”

Hawke nodded, but he looked down, something clearly on his mind. “Varric told me you shut him outside for a while.”

Anders raised his eyebrows. “Yes, I shut the door when the clinic was empty and Varric went to check on you.”

Hawke looked up. “You latched it, he said.”

Anders stared at him. Was he really going to do this? “Yes, Hawke. I latched it. You insisted we needed two men to watch us if I wanted to go to my own clinic, and when neither of you were there I locked the door. But that’s not really what you’re asking, is it?”

Hawke hunched his shoulders. “Well…”

“We talked about this. You said you understood if sometimes Fenris and I needed to do things without you there.”

Hawke bowed his head, but not before Anders saw the hurt in his eyes. _Oh Maker_. “So you did…? You’re right. I did say that. And I do understand. I’m sorry.”

Anders sighed and put a hand to the side of Hawke’s head, feeling the soft fuzz of his sideburns and the rough stubble of his cheeks. He turned Hawke’s face to look at him. “It’s not like that.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to hurt you like this.”

“I know.”

“No,” Anders sighed. “You don’t. I never thought I could love someone the way I love you.” Those startling blue eyes looked up to meet his. “This thing with Fenris… it doesn’t even approach that. And what I did in the clinic today… I just wanted to give him something. Especially after yesterday.”

“I understand.”

Anders leant his forehead against Hawke’s. “No, you don’t. You can’t. But I’m glad of it. I hope you never really do.”

“Anders, I-”

Anders spoke over Hawke’s protest. “When this is over, Fenris will never talk to me again. So I had to give him something now.”

Hawke pulled away so he could meet Anders’ eyes. “Anders, no. You’re wrong. I think he’s actually starting to like you. And it’s not just the spell. He-”

Anders shook his head. “That’s not it. It doesn’t matter. You heard him call me ‘master’, and you know that it’s bad, but you don’t understand." Anders closed his eyes, it was hard to say these things, as though saying them made them true. But he knew if he didn't Hawke would go on, blissfully unaware. "He really feels that way. He doesn’t want to, but he does. It isn’t just that he has to do what I say. Do you think that after this he’ll be able to look at me and not remember that? How I made him feel? It doesn’t matter whether he likes me or not; he won’t even want to be in the same room as me.”

Hawke was reaching for him now, trying to soothe him. “You always think the worst.”

 _He’ll never understand_. “Hawke – you… It’s not about me and Fenris. It’s about… abuse, it’s about…” _being alone in the dark_. “You tell me Cullen has changed. You tell me he thinks mages are people now. You tell me you trust Ser Thrask, and I’ve seen him help mages but… if you asked me to sit down, have a drink with them, play wicked grace…” His chest squeezed tight, just at the thought. Hawke would never ask for that, but he’d expect for Fenris to come on missions with them. He’d expect them to sit down at cards in the Hanged Man. “I couldn’t do it. Fenris thinks of me as his master. It must make his skin crawl. It must make him sick to his stomach, but it doesn’t go away and… You think after this he’ll be able to look at me and not remember that? Not think of every single thing Danarius ever did?”

“You’re not Danarius,” Hawke said, his tone firm.

“I know, Hawke. That’s not the point-”

A knock on the door interrupted them. Bodahn, who had been trying to make himself invisible, moved swiftly to answer it.

“Captain Aveline Vallen for you, messeres,” Bodhan announced, Aveline following him in.

Hawke stepped away, the closeness of their previous discussion too intimate for company. “Aveline,” he said. “Any news?”

“Some,” she said. “Although not as much as I’d like.”

“Let’s go through to the library,” Hawke said. “Bodahn, can you get Orana to send up some tea, and maybe something to eat?”

“Of course, messere.” Bodahn gave a short bow and retreated.

Hawke gestured for Aveline to go before them, but took Anders hand before following. He gave a little squeeze, and Anders read in that both that Hawke wanted to reassure him, and that they were not done.

***

After days of frustration, waiting for a chink in the stone façade of the guarded entrance to a Hightown estate, finding the shadowed passage from Darktown seemed almost too easy.

A frontal assault had been impossible. Danarius had cursed his luck that they hadn’t found Fenris’s squat before he had holed up with this… Hawke person. The mess his little wolf had made was itself quite entertaining. It was clear his slave had struggled to function away from his master’s guiding hand. But an empty mansion with only a spattering of his slave’s things, squirreled away in a single room, gave him nothing. The boy had to be brought to heel.

It had become evident that there must be another way into the estate. Despite the armed guards, passage through the front door had virtually ceased. Fortunately, Hawke was not a man who kept his business quiet. The Fereldan refugee who had risen to nobility was making quite a name for himself. It had been easy enough for Danarius’s agents to identify Hawke’s close friends and keep a watch on them. They’d had to be careful around the dwarf, who had a reputation of his own, but finding and watching the elf, the pirate, the guard, and the Chantry brother had been simplicity itself. The healer had been conspicuous in his absence from the Darktown clinic, but that in itself proved sufficient for gossip amongst the detritus that called the sewer home. It had been easy to establish that the mage had disappeared shortly after his men had caught up with Fenris.

The elven mage had disappeared near the clinic once. Given how easy she had been to track, losing her was interesting in and of itself. Then, when healing potions had suddenly been distributed amongst the poor, it seemed likely the healer had a way to go to his clinic and back without being seen. The clinic was clearly the key.

It had proved more challenging than expected to set a steady watch on the place. The residents of Darktown, had a protectiveness of their healer. Whilst they hadn’t the sense to limit their gossip, any overt surveillance would instantly draw ire. Nevertheless, the clinic reopening was like a wave rolling through the sewers. Everybody knew the mage was back. It had been simplicity itself to bribe gang members to suddenly find themselves in need of the mage’s services.

When his agent had showed him the half-blocked passageway, concealed by rubble, Danarius had laughed. He could almost feel Fenris in his grasp.

He had expected more resistance, more guards, but this ‘Hawke’ seemed woefully naïve about the security of his back passage. They were unchallenged through the labyrinthine cellars. The door at the top of the stairs had a substantial lock, but it was as nothing to his agent’s lock picks. Danarius could have blasted through the door with ease, had he not wished to maintain the advantage of surprise.

They passed with blissful ease through Hawke’s halls, moving towards the sound of voices. Closest, he could distinguish a young woman and, what, a mabari? The dog barked at something and the girl laughed.

“Well, you would say that,” her voice carried clearly to them as they approached the end of the hall. “You don’t have hands!” The mabari barked in response.

They would have to disable the girl and the dog before moving into the open space. Once that was done, they would have to move quickly. Danarius was holding up his hand to still his men when the sound of another voice reached his ears. So familiar, so striking, after all these years. He couldn’t distinguish the words, but he knew that rumbled timbre. His little wolf was close. It was time to call him home.

Striding forward, Danarius turned the corner and caught the girl and the mabari with a mind blast, taking satisfaction from her stunned face. Then, before anyone in the adjacent room could respond to the disturbance, he strode for the door, casting mass paralysis on everyone inside.

He laughed to see them frozen in place as his agents fanned out around him. Then his attention was caught by the magic that thrummed in the room. A living, pulsing connection that mixed his own magic with… something else. Something that pulled between Fenris and what must be the Darktown healer. Tall and blond as described, a high-collared blue shirt clashing oddly with a well-worn, feathered coat.

Ah, but this man was so much more than a healer, wasn’t he? “Well, well,” Danarius muttered. “An abomination. What _have_ you found, my pet? Doesn’t _this_ open some _delicious_ possibilities?”

Signalling his men to attack, Danarius began the binding chant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know mass paralysis is an Origins spell, and not used in DAII, but as far as I'm concerned, spells don't disappear simply because they become unavailable in game. We know Thedas is full of different schools of magic. I figure it's like knowing different techniques, and Danarius is a pretty freakin' powerful magister. He'll have read up on just about anything he can get his hands on. Mass paralysis is definitely something he would know how to cast.
> 
> Also, I apologise for the suggesting that Hawke is "woefully naïve about the security of his back passage"... No I don't. I couldn't resist that phrasing. I'm sorry, but I'm not sorry.


	29. In which Aveline and Merrill kickass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Danarius brings Anders and Fenris both under his control, their friends seem overwhelmed - outnumbered and forced to fight two of their most powerful allies. But then, Hawke has many powerful friends...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BAMF Merrill, BAMF Aveline, even BAMF Dogger. All whilst Anders and Fenris are hopelessly enthralled to Danarius. Welcome to the fight chapter.
> 
> Warning for canon-typical violence and blood. Merrill is a blood mage and some of her spells are described.

Anders stared in horror, feeling the tendrils of magic wrap around him, reach inside him, through him. Pluck away at his very essence. And he could do absolutely nothing to stop it.

Justice raged within his skin. From the corners of his eyes, he could see flashes of blue, but Justice, too, seemed held in place, trapped by the paralysis that permeated his body.

Danarius was just too strong.

Around him, dark figures stabbed, punched, kicked at his friends. He and Fenris seemed to be left alone. Well, why not? Soon enough they would be completely under Danarius’s control. The magister wouldn’t want his possessions harmed.

He wished for the power to scream, to fight back, to do _anything_ as he saw Hawke knocked to the ground, unresisting, a man with a sword standing over his exposed head.

 _No, no, no… no… no…_ he was… something was… what was he…?

Something was pulling at him. His mind, he…

_Justice?_

Justice was pulling at him.

No, not Justice.

Something was pulling _at_ Justice.

Was there a difference? Wait…

Something was bothering him.

And then, everything seemed to fit into place. He was Justice, Justice was him, and they both… they belonged to Danarius now.

Everything became clear.

Empty.

He was a conduit for his master’s power.

***

Fenris wondered if he would have remained standing, had he not been frozen to the spot. He had waited years for this. Longed for it. For the confrontation. For vengeance. But to have his master come upon him thus. In Hawke’s house. A place that had begun to feel somehow safe.

Old fears washed over him. The impulse to submit. The fury he had found under all those layers of devotion. He had loved this man. Been crushed by any failure to obey, no matter how minor. He’d worshiped him.

He wanted to throw himself at Danarius’s feet and beg forgiveness.

He wanted to grasp the magister’s heart in his hands and squeeze it to a pulp.

But now, now his former master wasn’t even looking at him. He was looking… at Anders.

“What _have_ you found, my pet?” he heard the magister say, his voice so familiar, like fingernails scraped through his soul. “Doesn’t _this_ open some _delicious_ possibilities?”

_No._

He heard Danarius begin the chant.

_No._

There must be some way to stop this, to prevent it.

But he couldn’t so much as move his eyes. Around him he could hear the sounds of the most perverse kind of one sided fight. It was a blessing that Hawke and Aveline were still dressed in their armour, but their assailants would still make short work of them if the paralysis held.

Then, in a moment of blessed relief, he heard a blood-curdling howl.

 _Dogger_. The mabari stood at the door, behind Danarius, and around them movement ceased.

Danarius was unaffected, of course. His barrier was up and his mind far too strong to be intimidated by a dog, but it gave Aveline and Hawke precious moments.

And behind the dog: Merrill, dark red and green magic swirling like smoke around her. The edges of it seemed to lick at Danarious’s shield, but could not yet penetrate. She cast her hands down and electricity crackled around them. Again, the magister was left untouched, but his agents writhed on the floor in pain.

Fenris allowed himself one brief moment of hope. He had never been so glad to see the little blood mage. 

In that moment, he felt the magic that bound him dissipate. He was free. A grin entirely too wide stretched his face and he snarled, reaching for the greatsword sheathed on his back.

But of course, such hope was doomed. He could never succeed so easily against the man who had once owned him. Scarred his body. Made other magisters cower in fear of his power and cruelty.

Danarius had finished his chant. He smiled at Fenris’s snarl and gestured casually to Anders. “Stop him.”

The mage turned to him. “You will stop.” Anders’ voice was dead on his lips, but recognisable. The force of _command_ fell on Fenris. He stopped, sword in hand, facing Danarius, utterly still, but for shallow breaths.

It was somehow unlike the accidental or reluctant commands Anders had given him before. He’d felt compelled to obey, but a part of him had known his master didn’t really want that unquestioning obedience. Anders’ own uncertainty had lent him room to manoeuvre. To interpret. To bend. There was none of that here. Anders’ will, Justices’s will, was given entirely over to Danarius. It flickered through his markings and into his mind.

His master wanted him to stop. So he stopped.

By now, Hawke and Aveline were moving again, as were the men and women Danarius had brought with him. There was little room in the library, and the warriors would have to fight through Danarius’s servants in order to get to him. They would not be fast enough.

The magister was smiling. “Tell him he must do as I say,” he said to the mage, and Anders relayed the order, cementing the command in Fenris’s mind:

“You must do as he says.”

 _Yes, I must do as Danarius says_. It was burnt into him as a truth.

“Dispatch these two,” the magister said, gesturing to Hawke and Aveline.

Fenris turned and his markings flared. He ghosted through a struggling man to the other side of Hawke, and swung his blade.

 

***

Aveline saw Fenris move on Hawke, and a raw cry split from her lips. They never spoke of it, but Aveline knew how much she owed this man. She would not see him cut down as Wesley had been. Certainly not by his own friend.

It was fortunate there was little room for manoeuvre. Fenris could not get a clean line on Hawke’s exposed head with his oversized sword. But the cut to the back of his knees could prove fatally disabling. Hawke’s legs sagged out from under him and Aveline charged.

She hit Fenris squarely in the face with her shield, thanking everything that was holy she’d left it close by before the fight started. He was bowled backwards away from Hawke, the stairs behind him catching his feet and tipping him over.

_If I can just knock him out…_

But that was easier said than done. Fenris had been enhanced by the lyrium in his skin in more ways than one, and it was clear he’d been a formidable fighter to begin with. Fenris was on his feet and advancing again within seconds. Behind her, and to the side, Hawke’s original assailant and the one who’d tried to corner her were both approaching.

Hemmed in on three sides, Aveline straddled Hawke, raised her sword and shield, and spat out her challenge: “You will _not_ have him! Not today - not while I'm here!””

***

Merrill’s early victories were ebbing away. The Wrath of the Elvehn spilled out from her, lipping at Danarius’s shield, wearing it down, but oh so slowly. Dogger stood before her, keeping the magister’s servants at bay, which was both a blessing and a curse. She was vulnerable in close combat, but if they would just come close she could suck the vitality out of them and use it to fuel herself.

Danarius turned to her, feeling her magic stripping away his protection. He smiled – a lizardy cold thing. He inclined his head towards Anders. “Deal with the mage and her dog.”

Anders met her eyes, but they were so empty. His skin was cracked with Justice’s presence, but the blue did not eclipse the brown; it was simply that there was nothing there. No light or life. Neither his condescending pity nor the little spark of humour he had just begun to share with her.

“Anders, no!” She knew it was useless, but she had to call out to him. Had to believe her friend – Hawke’s friend? No, her friend, too – could hear her. “Anders, you don’t have to do this. Justice, stop it. You know this isn’t right.”

He was advancing on her, staff raised. Dogger growled at her feet. The dark figure that had been attacking her retreated, but Anders seemed unaffected by the mabari’s fearsome visage. He shot Dogger with a bolt of lightning that threw him back, out of the library, behind Merrill.

She retreated, her barrier raised tight.

His staff spun in the graceful arc she had always admired when fighting with him, but now she felt the full force of the power behind that swing. One sweep flew out a cone of ice that froze Dogger to the spot. The second sent the end of his staff right through her shield, crashing into her face with a physical blow she could not deflect.

There was a horrible crack and a burst of pain as he broke her nose. Blood flooded down her face. _Right then_.

“I’m sorry, Anders,” she said, then lifted a hand to the blood on her face and drew on the power released.

Anders’ steps faltered and wounds began appearing, splitting his skin, drawing blood out of him to be lapped up by the tendrils of power that surrounded her. He screamed. As strange, animalistic thing, almost bewildered in its agony.

“Finish her off!” Danarius cried. “Quickly!”

Anders staggered forward. She had weakened him, but not enough. Not as both spirit and man were combined to serve Danarius.

Merrill reached out with coils of her magic and pulled him closer, more wounds blossoming on his skin even as he healed them.

She sent a bolt of lightning out, grasping for more spells to throw at him with her fading mana, but it glanced right off the magic of his shield.

Behind him, she could hear Aveline screaming, and Danarius… that bastard was laughing now. Surely it couldn’t end like this.

“Anders, _please_ ,” she called to him, even though she knew he couldn’t hear, or couldn’t respond if he did.

She’d pulled him too close, and her shield was fading. As it slipped away from her, he froze her to the spot with blast of wintry cold and raised his staff again. _Oh Creators, if he shatters me…_

And then the world exploded around her.

Distantly, an almost childlike voice shouted the word: “Boom!”

 _That can’t be right_ , she thought, as consciousness faded from her. _Explosions don’t really say “boom”, do they?_

But this one had…


	30. Exit the wolf, pursued by his past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of battle, Fenris takes his vengeance on Danarius. Anders is freed from the binding spell, but at what cost?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shortish chapter, but we have a lot of emotional fallout to get through and I'm not well enough to get it all down tonight. I've been brimming to write this bit for an age, though, so I wanted to share what I have.
> 
> Warning for realistic depictions of violence that happens in the game (also, blood from the battle). If you know how Danarius dies you should be able to see it coming and skip to the next section.

There was a flash of white and the world rang like a struck bell.

When his vision cleared, Fenris found Hawke and Aveline collapsed beneath him at the foot of the stairs, along with several armed men. Hauling himself up, Fenris saw that Danarius had been knocked over, too. They all had.

Grim satisfaction settled over him and he stepped over the prone forms. “I would consider them ‘dispatched’, wouldn’t you, Danarius?”

He didn’t wait for a response, ghosting across the space between them until he stood above the magister, whose expression was still dazed. A small, charred lump of something lay at his feet. Danarius must have been at the centre of the blast.

Behind him, he heard someone shifting. If Anders recovered and still felt compelled to stop him from hurting Danarius, this momentary freedom would be lost. He would not allow himself to be controlled by Danarius again.

Swooping down, he grasped Danarius by the throat and hauled him into the air. “You cannot control me anymore. _You are no longer my master!_ ”

Fenris’s hand clenched around the Danarius’s neck, the vertebrae breaking with a sickening crack. It wasn’t enough. Adjusting his grip, he dug his fingers in and ripped out the magister's throat. Blood splattered against his face, and the body collapsed, free from his grasp.

***

From her dazed position on the floor, Merrill took in the scene. Sandal stood surprisingly close, a stricken Bodahn pulling himself to his feet behind him. The boy had a look of simple joy on his face.

A glance through the door of the library and she could see a dark lump at the fallen magister’s feet. Something flickered across the space, and she caught a glimpse of Fenris standing over Danarius before Anders began to rise as well, obscuring her view.

Merrill reached frantically for her mana, but she was completely drained. Not simply scraping-the-barrel low, as she had been before Sandal’s trick had detonated, but utterly empty. Watching Anders rise unsteadily to his feet, she could only hope the same was true of him as well.

_Creators, help me._

He reached towards her, as though to cast a spell, and she heard Fenris speaking behind him: “You cannot control me anymore. You are no longer my master!” And then a crunch.

Anders stood, staring at her for a moment longer, and then his legs gave out. The mage fell to the floor in front of her, revealing a grisly tableau: Fenris standing with pain and fury and loss on his face, and a lump of dripping flesh in his hand. As he flung it down, Hawke came to his feet behind the elf, the two men seeming to move in different streams of time. Fenris frozen in the moment of killing his master, gaining his freedom. Hawke dashing in a stumbled run to the man who had fallen at her side.

“Anders!”

Hawke’s urgency pulled her into the immediacy of his panic. Where everything had seemed muted before she was suddenly conscious of the deep, throbbing pain of her face and the trembling of her muscles. Anders’ rasping, rapid breathing filled her ears. The sheer terror in his face was a sharp contrast to the blank mask that had stared down at her like death. And blood, there was blood everywhere.

Mostly from Anders. Mostly from the myriad of ragged wounds she had ripped into his flesh. Instinctively, she reached again for her mana to heal him, and reeled when she hit nothing. And she couldn’t draw on the power of her blood to heal his wounds.

“I’m so sorry, Anders,” she said, tears welling in her eyes as Hawke pulled him into his lap, cradling his head. “I didn’t know how to stop you.” She sobbed.

“Anders,” Hawke was saying, urgently. “Speak to me. Tell me you’re back with me. Please. Please, please, please.”

But Anders didn’t respond, staring into nothing and breathing hard and fast, his eyes wide.

“ _Magic_ ,” the word said like a curse, full of disgust and hate. “It taints and soils everything it touches.”

Hawke closed his eyes and pulled Anders closer. “Now is not the time, Fenris,” he said, not looking up.

“Now is _exactly_ the time,” the elf said. “Look around you at what magic has wrought.”

Merrill looked up to see Fenris standing over them, revulsion in his face.

“Merrill saved you, Fenris,” Aveline said, quietly, coming to stand behind him. “She saved us all. I know you’re hurting, but if she hadn’t used her magic-”

“You know _nothing_ ,” Fenris spat. “I don’t have to stay here and listen to this.”

He went to leave, but Anders jerked as if slapped. “No, no, no, no, no,” he moaned desperately, reaching out towards Fenris. “Please, don’t leave me.”

Fenris turned back, his eyes full of disdain. “Is that an order?”

Anders flinched. “No, sorry, no, but… please, please.”

Fenris turned away and left without a backwards glance.

They sat in stunned silence, except for Anders, whose pleading degenerated into moans and then simply back to the too-fast, too-strained breathing of before.

There was the sound of a commotion at the door, then Aveline’s guards came rushing in.

“Captain,” sounding relieved to see Aveline, but also confused. “We didn’t… what happened?”

“They found another way in,” she said, simply. “Gather up the bodies and place anyone still alive under arrest.” She gestured towards the library, but left her men to their business as she crouched down beside Hawke. “What do you need?”

“I-I don’t know,” he said. He looked to Merrill. “Can you heal him?”

She shook her head. She didn’t know if Hawke meant his wounds or the deeper pain that had taken root in Anders’ mind, but she had no answer for either. “My mana is completely drained. Whatever Sandal did… I think it was meant to disable mages, amongst other things.” She looked to the boy, who was now in his father’s arms, cowering from the chaos and blood, now that his moment of triumph had passed. “If I can get a lyrium potion, I can heal his wounds, but as for the rest…” She shook his head.

Hawke swore. “I should have had more healing potions on me. But we were just going to the clinic and back, and I needed so much in the fight – after that paralysis…” he glanced at Aveline, who shook her head. Then he blinked. “Of course. Bodahn,” he called, the elder dwarf looking up. “Why don’t you take Sandal back to your rooms? And then… if you could find some lyrium, or a healing potion…? I’ll pay you back.”

Bodahn nodded over Sandal’s head. “Of course, messere. No payment necessary,” he said, and then to Sandal: “Come on, my boy. You’ve been ever so good. I’ll ask Orana to make you a treat, how about that?”

“Enchantment?” came a quiet, scared voice.

“That’s right,” Bodahn confirmed.

“Enchantment!” Sandal declared as he was led away.

When Merrill looked back to Hawke, he was rubbing Anders’ arm and resting his cheek on his tousled hair. He kissed the top of the mage’s head and looked to Aveline. “Do you… are there things you need to do with the guard?”

Aveline looked to her men, who were manhandling a barely-conscious soldier to his feet. “How many dead?” she asked.

“All but this one.”

Aveline nodded. “Get him to the dungeon and send a team back here for the bodies.”

“You think they’ll have friends?” One of them asked - younger looking than his comrade, looking a little green at all the blood.

“No, their leader’s dead. It’s over. We just need to clean up the mess.” Her men nodded and moved towards the door. “There’ll be a report to do later, but it should be open and shut," She said to Hawke. "We expected slavers to attack and try to seize Fenris. They did. We killed them. Slavery’s illegal in Kirkwall and the Viscount has little sympathy for people flouting that particular law. The one that’s left will hang. You’ll get no trouble over it.”

Hawke nodded. “Can you do something else for me, then?”

“Anything, Hawke,” she said, deep sympathy in her eyes.

Hawke’s were hard. “Find Fenris. Bring him back. I know,” he closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. “I know he needs time. I know this was huge. But I need him. _Anders_ needs him. I don’t know why,” Hawke’s voice broke, betraying his emotion, “I don’t understand… any of this really. But he needs him. And I need Anders.” When he opened his eyes again the hardness was gone, replaced by pain and hopelessness.

“I’ll find him, Hawke,” Aveline said. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Errata:
> 
> Soooo, I may have forgotten about Varric when I wrote the last chapter. Let's just say he parted company from them when they left Darktown. Yes? Yes.
> 
> Also, Danarius had way more lackeys with him in the game, but, uh, I'm not writing a battle between the group and, like, 30 other people. It would be hella boring to read, anyway. Let's say he took a small group because he was trying to be sneaky. And was overconfident. Yes.
> 
> And you may note the absence of Varania. There's so many emotions in the mix here already, we don't need Fenris's sister to betray him as well. Let's say in this world she never tries to apprentice herself to Danarius, which is why he goes with the mind-control ritual instead. Yes? Yes. Good.


	31. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aveline finds Fenris and talks to him about coming back. Hawke and Merrill try to bring Anders back to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of blood in this chapter, but most of the pain is psychological. Fair warning that things are not going to be great for Anders for a few chapters now, and it's going to get worse before it gets better. I'll be updating the tags to reflect and will warn for potentially triggering content - ignore if avoiding spoilers is more important to you.
> 
> Sorry that I've not been able to have all the necessary tags from the beginning. This was meant to be maybe 10,000 words of dub-con mind control porn. I should have known my love of angst would get the better of me..

The night air was cool, catching the sweat on Aveline’s forehead. She longed to return home, strip her armour, wash the grime of combat from her skin. Perhaps with help from Donnic? The ghost of a smile graced her face. But it was still too early in their relationship for that.

Surely too early to expose him to inner the minefield of what it was to be one of Hawke’s friends. Not that Hawke hadn’t earned everything that she could give. Persuading her to finally speak to Donnic about her feelings was just one more thing she owed him.

She shook her head. Lingering here would not bring Fenris back.

Even the streets of Hightown could be dangerous at night, but they were less so under her watch. She passed through them without incident and across to Fenris’s… well, to the mansion in which Fenris made his home. Perhaps it would be easier to get the deed signed over to him now that Danarius was dead.

She opened the door.

As Aveline had expected, the elf had not gone far.

Fenris leant against a cold and empty fireplace, facing away from her. Around him, the mansion was worse than ever. A bookcase had been pushed over and its contents strewn across the floor. One of the mummified bodies she had pressed him to dispose of had been ripped open and trampled on. A wooden chair and a table lay in pieces.

“Get out,” the elf said, not turning to her.

“I can’t do that, Fenris,” she said.

He looked over his shoulder at her with curiosity. Perhaps he had expected someone else. He looked away again.

“Try.”

Aveline crossed to him, picking her way through the wreck of his home. “In other circumstances, I might. You deserve to have your space.”

Fenris snorted. “But you will not give it to me.”

“I know this is hard,” she said, her tone quiet, but firm.

“You know _nothing_ ,” Fenris said, whirling round to glare at her. “How could you _possibly_ know how I feel? To have been a slave? To have killed on my master’s command without a second thought. To have – my skin…” He turned back to the fireplace, his brands flaring as he punched the stonework, sending a shower of pulverised rubble into the air. “My _memories_ …” he hit out again, chunks of stone falling to his feet as the masonry cracked. “ _Any_ life I might have had.” He threw up his arms and stormed away.

“I can’t know,” she said, keeping her voice even, allowing him to expend his anger unchallenged. “I imagine it was… very hard. And to have killed him must be overwhelming. But I can’t know.”

“And yet you _presume_ to come here and lecture me for wanting to leave the presence of mages? _None of this_ would have happened, but for magic.”

“No, Fenris, I don’t want to lecture you. If things were different I would want to give you all the space you need, but…”

“‘But’ – pah!” he spat. “But you’re not going to.”

Aveline sighed. Her heart went out to him. She would want to be alone if it were her. But his friends needed him. She had to make him see. A different tack, then.

“Fenris, have you ever had your spirit bound?”

“What?” He turned to look at her, glaring from eyes sunk in shadow beneath the hair that fell across his face.

“Have you ever had your spirit bound to someone else’s will?” she said again.

“I – I am under compulsion to obey Anders. You know this,” he said.

She shrugged. “But you’re not bound to him.”

“What difference does it make?” He was still impatient with her, but she could feel uncertainty underneath. It was a way in.

“I don’t know the details of the spell you are under,” Aveline said, “and I know you haven’t told me everything, but there does seem to be a difference between the compulsion you are under, and what happened to Anders today.” She moved closer. Slowly, her pace measured, but without hesitation. “You have to do what he says, and I don’t know what that’s like. But you were able to decide, after the blast. You said you considered Hawke and me ‘dispatched’, but you know that’s not what he meant. He meant you to kill us. Just like he meant Anders to kill Merrill. But when you had the chance, you found a hole in his words and you used it to kill him.

“Did you notice what Anders was doing?” She asked, close to him now, holding his gaze.

“I… heard him rise behind me,” Fenris admitted. “I suppose he was coming to Danarius’s aid.”

Aveline shook her head. “No, he was still going after Merrill. I could see the fear in her eyes. He might have taken your lead and decided she had been ‘dealt with’. She was completely defenceless, after all. But I don’t think he was able.”

“So?” She could sense his anger still bubbling within him, but he was listening, at least.

“So, I don’t think it’s the same. I don’t know what it’s like to be a slave or under a compulsion. I imagine it must be awful, but I don’t know. And _you_ don’t know what it’s like to have your spirit bound to someone else. I find… I cannot even imagine what that would be like,” she said, sadly. “Judging from Anders' reaction, I can only guess that it must be terrible.”

Fenris pursed his lips and looked away. Then shook his head. “No, it was Justice that he bound. You cannot bind a man, Merrill said so.”

“Well, Merrill would know better than me,” Aveline said, bending to right a fallen chair and lean on its back. “I don’t pretend to understand Anders’ relationship to Justice. I try not to think about it, if I’m honest. But one thing he has always said is that they are not really separate anymore. What if, in binding Justice, Danarius bound Anders as well?”

Fenris frowned, doubt in his eyes now. “You… cannot know that.”

“No,” she agreed. “But I know whatever happened to him, he’s hurting, and he needs your help. As his friend, I hope I can persuade you to come back. As Hawke’s friend,” she said, with just a hint of threat, “I am going to make sure you do.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, questioning.

She held his gaze. “When Wesley died and I had nothing, Hawke and his family took me with them. When we got to Kirkwall and they’d barred the gates, Gamlen found a way to bribe the guards, and Leandra said, without a moment’s hesitation, ‘You’ll come with us.’ That’s just how they are. Hawke’s never turned me down any time I asked for his help. He doesn’t even think about it. If there’s something you need, he just smiles and takes you with him.”

Aveline matched the tilt of Fenris’s head with her own. “What did he say to you, the day you first met, when you’d lied and tricked him into an ambush?”

Fenris cleared his throat. “That if I had asked for his help honestly, he would have given it.”

She nodded. “And do you believe that?”

“Yes,” he admitted, shifting under her gaze.

“Then come back with me now,” Aveline said. “I like to think you would do it for Anders. But if you won’t, then do it for Hawke. I don’t care if you’re still angry. Rant and rave about magic if you must, but… just be there. Stay with them, just for now.”

“I…” Fenris’s eyes slipped from hers, and she could see a glassy sheen to them, but he nodded. “Alright,” he said. “For now.”

***

Hawke held Anders to him. One hand in his hair, the other flat against his chest, under his shirt, feeling the hammering of his heart.

“I have you,” he whispered, over and over, hoping something in the constant reassurance would reach the man he loved. “You’re here. You’re back. He’s gone. I have you. You’re here.”

Finally, Anders whispered: “I’m not.”

Hawke pulled him closer, his face against Anders’ head, breathing in the sweat and musk of him. “You are. I have you. See? Right here.” The hand on Anders' chest squeezed the firm flesh – solid and real beneath his fingers.

Anders was staring, wide-eyed, but focusing on nothing. “I’m not. I’m hollow. I don’t exist.”

“You _do_ ,” Hawke insisted. He turned Anders round in his arms and put a hand to his face. “You’re right here. If you’re arguing with me, you’re here. Anders. _Justice_.” Anders gazed through him.

He sighed. Closed his arms around the man again and held him to his chest. Tried to ignore the blood that was seeping through Anders’ skin, plastering his clothes to his body.

It seemed an age before Bodahn returned, but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. Merrill took the lyrium potions from him gratefully, and Hawke grasped at a health potion. He pressed it to Anders’ lips.

The man closed his mouth and turned his head away.

“Oh, for the love of-” Hawke swore. Tried to calm himself. Whatever was going on in Anders’ head, he wasn’t being deliberately difficult. “Merrill, he won’t drink. Can you heal him now?”

She laid aside an empty bottle and nodded. Anders tried to squirm away from Merrill’s touch, but Hawke held him fast. He felt the prickle of hairs rising in response to magic use and watched as the cuts on Anders’ bare arm began to close.

Something eased in his chest – a tightness. It was something, at least, if Anders was physically whole. It gave them time.

“There,” Merrill said, patting his hand. “I’m sorry I had to hurt you like that. It was all I could think… You’ll be a bit woozy. The cuts were shallow, but you’ve lost some blood.” She looked up to Bodahn. “He should have something to drink. Soup would be good.” The dwarf nodded and disappeared again.

Anders’ hand lifted towards Merrill. “Your face…” he said, faintly. “I should fix that.”

Hawke’s heart leapt. It was the first thing Anders had said that seemed present, with them, in the moment.

She shook her head. “It’s fine. I’ll do it later.”

Anders struggled to a sitting position and reached for her, his hand trembling. Then he groaned, and collapsed back against Hawke.

Merrill took his hand and stroked it, sympathy written on her bloodied and bruised face. “You’re completely drained of mana. You won’t be able to do anything for now.”

“I should fix it,” Anders said again, his voice high and breathy. “Noses are… if you set it wrong, you’ll end up like Varric.”

She patted him. “So it should be done by someone with steady hands, right?”

Anders’ shaky laugh surprised and warmed Hawke’s ears. “I suppose,” the mage said.

Hawke fumbled for a lyrium potion, and this time when he pressed the bottle to Anders’ lips, he drank.


	32. In which Fenris has something to say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris returns to Hawke's estate, but cannot contain the roiling emotions inside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to write. Work and life stresses have been sort of all consuming and I haven't been sleeping well, which meant that rather than coming home and writing I've been coming home and sleeping.
> 
> Lots of high emotions in this chapter, but hopefully nothing too triggery (some description of blood). Next chapter is gonna be angst central, though...

Passing back through Hawke’s front door felt like a shadow falling over him. Fenris allowed Aveline to go first, hanging back as far as he reasonably could. Shoulders hunched and head down.

Part of him knew he was being selfish, but whenever he came close to acknowledging it a sharp rush of rage rose up in answer. He was being selfish? What of Anders? A few minutes under Danarius’s sway had been enough to break him? Fenris had been under Anders’ command for days, and slave to Danarius for years. But now he was supposed to set aside his own pain to look after one who still had power over him. As though he would not have been drawn back to Hawke’s in a few hours anyway to satisfy the magic that held him enthralled, even now when he was supposed to be free!

The stench of blood and magic filled his nostrils. He knew it so well.

He wanted to scream and run and vomit.

He did none of these things. He pushed it down. Followed Aveline back into a house now cleared of corpses, but covered in blood.

But looking at Anders, the shirt Fenris had selected for him plastered to his skin by drying blood, dark circles under his eyes and blond hair matted against his head by dark clots, Fenris could not ignore that most of the blood was the mage’s own. In here, at least. The library was another matter.

Anders’ eyes flicked briefly to his when he entered, but then he looked away. Hawke was holding a steaming mug of something to the man’s lips. The mage’s hands trembled against the arms of his chair.

Fenris’s lips curled in a snarl. _Weak_ , he thought. _I always knew you were weak. This is all your fault_.

Was he back to that again? He supposed he was.

Hawke caught the look and his eyes narrowed. “So glad you could join us, Fenris,” Hawke said, with a disdain so foreign to his kind, open features that it cut the elf to see it directed at him.

And yet his hackles rose in defence. Where was Hawke’s sympathy for him?

“You wanted me here, Hawke?” he said, folding his arms. “I’m here. For your sake,” he added, glaring at the pitiful shell of the mage. A mage who shook and shivered, but still held his leash.

“Oh, I see,” Hawke said, his eyes flashing. “But not for _him_.”

“Hawke,” Anders said, almost too quiet to hear. Hawke ignored him.

“It doesn’t matter to you that he was almost destroyed by your _fucking_ master. You’re free now. You’re fine, so what happens to Anders doesn’t matter. I suppose he’s _only a mage_ ; is that it?” Fenris wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Hawke so angry, except perhaps when he’d seen what Quentin had done to his mother. Or when he’d thought Fenris had forced himself on Anders.

“Hawke, stop it,” Anders said, a little louder this time. They both ignored him.

“ _Fine?_ You think I’m _fine_?” Fenris yelled back. “ _Thank_ you for reminding me that Danarius is dead. I almost forgot. I should be celebrating, shouldn’t I? Do I not have a right to it? But I can’t,” he spat. “You see, you’re quite wrong. My master isn’t dead. My master is sitting right here, in your arms. I should be free. But I’m not. He could tell me to service him right now, and I would.” He heard Aveline’s sharp intake of breath, but ignored that too. “No one should have that power. ‘Only a mage?’ ‘ _Only_?’ _This_ is what mages do. This is what they are. They are all too weak to say no.”

“Fenris,” Aveline said, gently.

“Oh _what_?” he demanded. “Would you defend the blood mage again? ‘Rant and rave as much as you like,’ you said. Will you tell me they are not weak? Both of them have made deals with demons. Both. Are these your shining examples of mages governing themselves? Using magic only for good?”

Hawke stood, slamming the soup down on his desk. But as he moved towards Fenris, Anders let out a low moan and wrapped himself around Hawke’s waist.

“Please, Hawke, please. Don’t, don’t, don’t.”

Anders’ distress seemed to smother the fire in Hawke’s eyes. He shot one last glare at Fenris, then bent down beside his mage and wrapped the man in his arms.

“Sorry, Anders,” he said, breathing heavily. He closed his eyes. Moments passed in stillness around their embrace. Then Hawke surprised him by saying, “Sorry Fenris,” his voice raw with emotion. “I know,” he said, not looking up, “this can’t be easy for you. But he’s everything – everything to me.” He kissed Anders’ forehead and stroked his hair. “And he’s barely even here.” Hawke’s voice broke on that last. “Please just… hold it together. A few more days. Randara will get here. I know she will. We’ll fix this. Amaranthine is not so very far. Just a few more days. I promise you’ll be free.”

Fenris’s rage melted away. Hawke was right, he knew it. And the vicious words that had poured from him were nothing but the vile, seeping fluids of an open wound.

“I… apologise.” He said, heat rising in his cheeks as he felt the hurt gaze of the blood mage, as well as Aveline’s, upon him. “It… I…” he tried again. “I should be free, and I’m not,” he said, simply.

Merrill cleared her throat. “I should be going. Come on, Aveline,” she said, with a surprising air of quiet authority. It was easy to forget she had been trained to lead her people.

And she had left them to pursue her cursed mirror… Fenris stifled the pang of bitterness and envy that so often arose in her presence. Aveline was right. He owed her, today. The battle would have been lost without her. Anders and he would have slaughtered the others in seconds had she not pulled the mage’s focus to her. And then they both would have been bound to Danarius. No one to come to their aid. Even the boy’s enchanted device might have failed had Merrill not weakened the magister’s shield.

“I’m sorry, Merrill,” he forced himself to say.

She merely nodded, taking Aveline by the arm and leading her to the door.

Hawke sighed, deeply, then finally met Fenris’s eyes. “Would you get Orana to draw a bath, please?” He plucked at Anders’ blood-soaked collar. “I don’t think this is helping.”

Fenris nodded and left without a word, telling himself he wasn’t fleeing.

***

To be alone with Anders at last, after all the chaos and the misery was almost peaceful.

Hawke sat behind him in the tub, taking solace in the press of their bodies together, Anders’ weight on his legs, the touch of his skin. _He’s here, he’s right here_.

He was using a sponge to sluice the blood from Anders’ skin, the water slowly turning pink as deceptively beautiful curls of red dissolved within it.

Anders was so quiet. He wished he knew what would help.

Hawke kissed his ear. “Talk to me,” he said.

Anders’ head rocked against him: no. “There’s nothing,” he said, simply.

Nothing to say? No one inside him to talk? Hawke closed his eyes against tears. Turned his mind away from puzzling again about what that meant. Why Anders kept insisting that he didn’t exist.

 _Obviously he exists. He’s in pain, so he exists._ It didn’t help.

He pulled Anders tighter against him, and reached for the soap to wash his hair.

***

When he was done, Hawke combed Anders’ hair for him and wrapped him in the softest bathrobe he could find. Then they went down stairs. As reluctant as he was to do so when the elf was clearly so agitated, he needed to talk to Fenris again.

He looked a little better. Appeared to have cleaned his face and arms, and the worst of the blood off his armour. _I should have offered him a bath, too,_ Hawke thought. But there was only one tub. Never mind. Fenris could bathe in the morning. He’d speak to Orana.

Fenris stood at his approach. Anders lingered a few steps behind.

“I’m taking Anders to bed, now,” Hawke said. “You don’t have to come with us. I know a lot has happened since last night. But I think it would help.” _He needs you_ , Hawke thought. _Please_.

Fenris’s face was unreadable. “No,” he said. “I’ll stay in the house, but not in his bed.”

A wave of anger rushed through him, underpinned by fear. “For fuck’s sake, Fenris, we’re not going to _do_ anything. You know what will happen if he’s away from you. He can’t… he almost lost himself entirely before. I don’t know _what_ it would do to him now!”

“Hawke, stop,” Anders surprised him with the firmness of his tone. “You’re not going to make Fenris sleep with us.”

Hawke turned to him. “Well, no, of course I’m not. But if he could just see-”

“I said ‘no’.” Hawke was almost relieved to see the anger in Anders’ eyes. “He doesn’t want to, so he won’t. You’re not going to press him into something he doesn’t want. Certainly not for my sake.”

It was the most Hawke had heard him say since the attack. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I just…” he took Anders’ hand. “I’m just worried about you.”

Anders looked away. “I’ll be fine. I can barely feel Justice anyway,” he said, as though that explained something.

Hawke looked back to Fenris, whose gaze was focused on Anders, considering. “Sorry. Of course. The room you had before should still be made up for you.”

Fenris nodded. “I just… need to be alone,” he said simply, and left.

Hawke pulled Anders to him and held him close. He would protect him. Had to protect him. They would get through this.


	33. Dark commands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris cannot sleep, and neither can Anders. The mage comes to him in the dark of the night to make a final demand of the elf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the tags for suicidal thoughts and attempted suicide apply to this chapter, along with graphic violence.
> 
> Apologies to everyone who was here for the porn! This is as dark as it gets, I promise.

Fenris was struggling to sleep.

It had been quite some time since Anders had given him an order. He tried to hang on to how definitive the mage had been about him sleeping in a separate room, but the truth was that Anders hadn’t directly told him to do anything. Not since he had told him to obey Danarius. Whom he had killed.

He fidgeted. Turned from one side to the other. Scratched at the lyrium in his skin.

Nothing seemed to help, but he was damned if he was going to crawl into bed with the man and beg to be commanded.

He should have asked for an order when he had the chance, but he had been too proud.

A sound intruded on his fevered thoughts. The soft pounding of feet trying to be quiet but not really knowing how. And he could feel it – the gentle tug of his master approaching.

He grunted in frustration at the sense of relief that washed over him, shoving himself into a sitting position in bed.

The door swung open and orange light from the mage’s candle spilled into the room.

“ _Mage_ ,” he said, putting all his aggravation into the word.

Anders closed the door behind him and set the candle down on a dresser, its dim illumination flickering and stuttering around his figure, casting his face in strange, haunting shadows.

“Good, you’re awake,” Anders said.

“What do you want?” Fenris said, refusing to ask for what he so badly needed.

The mage didn’t seem to hear him. “You must despise me,” he said.

So close to a command, but not quite. The phrase tugged at the magic that infused him. His master wanted him to despise him. He shook his head to dismiss the impulse. He didn’t despise the mage. Not really. And it hadn’t been an order, just what Anders thought must be true.

“Mage, it is the middle of the night.”

“And you are not asleep,” he pointed out. “It must be eating at you. All this time you have lain in wait and you caught him, and you killed him, and I have taken that from you.”

Fenris sighed. Of course the man would fixate on his words. He regretted them, but it was hard to find the strength to apologise when he was still so… He shook his head. “Anders, I do not want to speak of this now. I can’t sleep because you haven’t told me what to do since this afternoon, that’s all. Just-”

“You want an order?” something had shifted in Anders’ tone. He’d leapt so quickly on that point. Something dangerous, here.

“I…” he began, trying to find the right words.

“Good,” Anders said, coming closer to the bed, sitting down beside him. “Hit me then. You must want to.”

Fenris found his body moving almost before he’d processed what Anders had said. It was all he could do to hold back at the last second, tell himself that Anders had not said _how hard_ he was to hit.

His fist connected with Anders’ chest, where he was protected by his ribs. Not his face or his stomach. A bad place for a punch if you wanted to do damage.

The mage’s face was hidden in shadow, but Fenris knew his grunt was one of irritation, not pain.

“That wasn’t a punch – come on. _Hit me_.”

“No,” he said, but his fist did not hear him. He struck Anders again. It was a solid hit, but they both knew it was nothing compared to what Fenris was capable of.

“Hawke isn’t here,” Anders said, his voice rising. “You can do what you want. Stop holding back and _hit me_.”

The next punch was substantially harder. Still not his hardest – Anders hadn’t told him to draw on the strength of his markings, or he might have done some real damage - but no longer holding back. He hit with the strength of a man who wielded a two-handed sword as tall as himself.

It had to have hurt, but though Anders was breathing hard now, he knew the mage would not be satisfied.

“Like you mean it, damn you. I _know_ this is what you want.”

“It’s not,” Fenris tried to protest, panic building in him. Surely someone must hear. Someone would stop him.

His body ignored his protests. He hit Anders as though he meant it, lyrium flaring in his skin with the burning sensation it always brought and more.

This time his punch sent the mage sprawling across the room, and he heard something crack.

But Anders was not done. He hauled himself up against the wall, breathing hard. “You don’t need to lie. You’re right. I’ve taken everything from you. You must hate me. You must want me dead.”

 _No. No, not good._ “Anders, _stop_. You’re upset. Go back to Hawke and go to sleep. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

But Anders wasn’t listening. “Come over here,” he said, and Fenris’s body moved of its own accord. Sliding off the bed and walking over to Anders as obedient as any good slave.

Anders took Fenris's hand and pressed it over his heart.

This was going too far. He had to stop this. “ _Justice_ ,” he said, calling to the spirit. “Justice, please, you have to stop him. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

Anders laughed, a breathy, broken thing. “Justice is barely here. He’s pulled so deep down inside his disgust I can barely feel him. But stop this.” He reached up a hand and stroked Fenris’s hair, a tear trickling down his face. “You don’t have to pretend anymore. It’s alright. I want you to do it.” He closed his eyes, washing more tears down his face. “Maybe it’ll set him free.”

“No,” Fenris jerked his hand away, but-

“Do it,” Anders said. “Kill me.”

It felt like the world tilted around him, and he let out a broken moan. But he couldn’t disobey. _Compulsion_ descended on him, though he clawed at it with every fibre of his being. The most he could do was to focus on the fact that Anders had not said _how_ he should kill him. He was not a man to draw out suffering, but with his will not his own, all he could do was play for time and try to follow Anders’ command as slowly as possible.

He continued as he had started: he would beat Anders to death.

“Justice, listen to me!” Fenris shouted as his fist connected with Anders’ solar plexus, winding him. It might buy him a few more seconds before Anders realised what he was doing and changed his command.

The mage doubled-over, and Fenris brought his fists together and slammed them into Anders’ back, forcing him to the ground.

“Justice, you have to stop him – please!”

Perhaps pain was the way to reach the spirit. As he kicked hard into Anders’ chest he tried to think what he could do to hurt him that wouldn’t cause permanent damage. But for all his skill as a fighter, Fenris only knew of torture that which had been done to him, and Danarius had never wanted him dead. He couldn’t do anything that wasn’t consistent with the command that Anders had given him. Painful ways to incapacitate the mage would only make it easier to kill him quickly. Besides, he knew the mage did not need to be incapacitated. Anders was making no effort to fight.

He pulled the mage to his feet as his gasped for breath and began punching him about the face. Slow, but deliberate. If he kept shouting, someone had to hear.

“You know,” Anders gasped, “That’s not… how you want… to do it.”

_No, no, no – don’t even think of it._

Anders patted weakly at his chest as Fenris hit him again. “Do it,” the mage whispered.

_No, no, I refuse to understand what he means. He’ll have to say the words. I have to stop him saying the words._

Fenris pulled back for a punch that he hoped would send the mage unconscious, but before it could land, Anders spoke:

“Do what you want.”

Time seemed to stand still. His fist fell and he collapsed forward onto the mage – pulled him into his arms and held him.

Anders struggled feebly against him. “I – I don’t,” he said, tears in his voice. “I don’t understand. What are you doing?”

“What I want,” Fenris said, cradling the man against him. 

“But – but you don’t…” Anders sobbed against him.

“I don’t want to kill you mage,” Fenris said, his face buried in blond hair. His knees gave way beneath him and they tumbled to the floor. “Don’t _ever_ do this to me again,” he said, the rush of adrenaline making him shake. “ _Ever_ ,” he sobbed.

Anders was shaking against him, too, his breath coming thick and fast and rasping. _I should do something to help him._ Fenris thought. And then: _Anders would know what to do._ He laughed a little hysterically at that, and settled for stroking the mage’s hair and rocking him gently.

There was the sound of footsteps running outside and finally, finally the door burst open.

Hawke.


	34. Promises and musk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Fenris comfort Anders in the wake of his suicide attempt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's amazing how a scene I gloss over in planning can take a whole chapter. I guess you could say we are in the hurt/comfort zone, now. We will get back to fondling and porn eventually - they are all too beautiful for me to entirely leave that behind - but first, a healthy dose of angst.

Hawke stared at them: his two friends - his two lovers, really – holding each other and rocking. Anders breathing in rasping, quick, painful-sounding breaths. Fenris stroking his hair and muttering something Hawke couldn’t hear.

It was not what he’d expected. Not from the fear in Orana’s eyes. The shouting. The thumps as he had got closer.

They were both still alive, that was something.

Heart beating hard in his chest, he walked over to them and crouched down.

Anders flinched away and Hawke saw his face – red and mottled with fresh bruising, his lip split and bleeding.

A narrow ringing echoed in his ear and for a moment Hawke felt faint.

He rested a hand against the wall to steady himself and took a deep breath.

“I am trying not,” he said, eyes closed. “To jump to conclusions.”

He wanted to gather Anders in his arms and never let him go. He wanted to strangle Fenris until his eyes bulged. He wanted to scream and break something. To shove them apart. To keep Anders away from the elf. Because he knew that there was nothing Fenris could do that Anders could not stop with a word. Which meant that, at the very least, Anders had wanted this. Had chosen to let it continue.

Hawke groaned in frustration. “Just tell me. Please tell me what happened.”

Anders was still breathing hard and fast, but he seemed to be trying to control it. “He – I,” he said. “I told him to. I told him to hit me.”

Fenris pulled Anders close to him again, tucking his head protectively under his chin. “More than that,” he said softly, and Anders started shaking his head in jerks, lifted a finger to Fenris’s lips. Fenris pushed the finger away, those big, green eyes meeting Hawke’s. “He told me to kill him,” Fenris said, his voice hitching. “He told me to kill him, Hawke.”

His heart stuttered. He felt light-headed.

Fenris was trembling, too, Hawke realised. Noted dispassionately, as though from very far away.

With the same distant observation, he felt that his fingers had curled into a fist. Saw that Fenris had closed his eyes and was trying to pull away from Anders, tears rolling down his cheeks. Saw too that Anders was pulling at the elf with scrabbling fingers. Moaning and begging for him to not leave him.

So, of course, Fenris relented.

Because he had to.

Because he had to do whatever Anders said, even if the man asked him to kill him.

Slowly, painfully, Hawke uncurled his fist.

“Why isn’t he dead?” he heard himself ask… and it was like the world snapped into focus around him. 

“I wasn’t doing it fast enough,” Fenris said, his voice choked with emotion. “I was trying to give you time. He could tell I was… holding back. So he told me to do it. Do what I wanted,” Fenris gasped as though the memory of it had somehow physically struck him. He rubbed in frustration at the tears on his face. “I didn’t want to kill him, Hawke. I swear. I don’t want him dead.”

He’d never seen Fenris cry like this. There was no question of disbelief.

“I don’t want you dead, you stupid mage,” Fenris whispered to Anders, holding their foreheads together. “Never do that to me again. Never.”

“I thought, I thought you-” Anders said in gasps between breaths.

“Well, I _don’t_ ,” Fenris said, with fervour. “Promise me. Promise me you won’t.”

“I promise, I promise,” Anders said, his voice barely audible.

Hawke reached forward and gathered them both in his arms. For a moment Anders struggled in a way that broke his heart. That he would allow himself to be comforted by an elf he’d thought wanted him dead, but not him. But then Anders quieted and coiled a fist in Hawke’s bed-shirt, pulling him close.

“I’m sorry,” Fenris breathed in his ear.

“Not your fault,” Hawke said, tersely.

And it wasn’t, Hawke realised. Leaving Anders free to go find Fenris had been like pushing a sharp knife into his hand. _Stupid. Stupid._ “I should have given you the key to the door, Fenris. I should have made sure it was locked.”

“He’d have just told me to open it,” Fenris said, his voice sounding dry and numb. “And I would have.”

“Then I should have locked you in,” Hawke said, relentless. Knowing he never would have done such a thing, but still wishing he had.

“Hawke,” Fenris said dryly, “There isn’t a room in this house you could keep me inside or that he couldn’t call me out of.”

Hawke closed his eyes, and a tear rolled down his face. “Then how can I keep you safe?” he asked, despairing.

“I won’t,” Anders said in his ear. “I won’t. I promise. I never… not if he doesn’t…”

“How can I believe that?” Hawke said, through a throat constricted by tears. “Why would you do this? How could you leave me like that?”

“I’m sorry,” Anders breathed in his ear. “I just… I’m nothing. There’s nothing. I needed it to stop.”

Hawke moaned, a broken animal sound, and reached between the two men, pulling Anders to him, not caring anymore that he was getting between them, that Anders somehow needed Fenris more than him. Just needing to hold him so close he could never pull away again. “You’re not nothing,” he whispered. “You’re everything. You’re all I have left. After mother…” his voice caught. “After Carver… even Bethany… I can’t lose you, Anders. I can’t. I need you.”

His fingers tangled in blond hair, his lips against his forehead, trying to pull him in so there was no space between them. Could Anders hear how hard his heart beat, pressed against his chest?

“You can’t do that,” Anders said. “I warned you. I told you this wouldn’t end well. It can’t. There are no good endings for me. I thought you understood.”

“And you said you loved me,” he said. “If you love me, stay with me. I won’t let you leave me alone like this.”

Hawke wasn’t sure how long he sat like that, rocking Anders against him. Holding him tight as though nothing bad could happen to Anders whilst he was in the circle of his arms. As though Anders might float off or disappear if he let go.

He could feel Fenris against him. The skin of their legs touching. Fenris’s hand looped around Anders’ waist. Not trying to get between them, just… holding on. Letting Anders know he was there.

And beyond their circle was Orana, maybe Bodahn as well. He didn’t care. Just wanted to keep Anders safe with him.

Eventually, the mage’s breathing slowed; if not calm, then better than he had been before.

He pushed just enough space between them to look down into Anders’ bloodshot eyes and bruised cheeks. He brushed hair back from Anders’ face and gently laid his fingers on what unblemished skin he could find.

“Please heal yourself,” he said.

Anders looked away.

“Not necessary,” he said. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Fenris said, breaking his silence.

Long, tan fingers, deceptive in their delicate appearance, skirted just across the swollen skin where Hawke hadn’t dared to touch. “I did not want to do this,” he said, and Hawke understood. Anders wouldn’t do this for himself. Didn’t think he deserved it. Wanted the pain. But he would do it for Fenris. Because Fenris did not deserve the guilt of having hurt him.

Hawke moved his hand out of the way as Fenris took Anders’ hand in his and held it to his cheek.

Anders sighed and closed his eyes. A slight blue glow and the angry red blooms drained away. The swelling subsided. The split skin of his lip fused back together. He looked tired, but no longer hurt.

Fenris knew better. He took the hand and pressed it to Anders’ ribs. “I know I hurt you here as well,” Fenris said. “I heard it.”

Anders wouldn’t meet his eyes, but moved the hand slightly higher up. “Here,” he conceded. A grimace of pain and a crack as something moved back into place.

Fenris moved his hands lower. “And I kicked you here.”

“It’s fine, Fenris,” Anders tried to say. “It’s nothing. It’ll mend on its own.”

“It’s not fine.” The elf was stern, unwilling to bend. “It’s not nothing. You’re in pain, and you shouldn’t be.”

Wrong tack. Anders shook his head, tears welling in his eyes again. “Yes, I _should_. I used you and…”

“So undo it,” Fenris said, calmly. “Undo what I did at your command.”

Anders closed his eyes, the tears spilling down his cheeks, but this time he obeyed. Another cool flash of blue, healing magic, then gone.

Fenris’s fingers traced down Anders’ back. “I hit you here, as well.”

Hawke breathed out slowly, willing calmness at the catalogue of blows.

“I-I don’t think-” Anders began.

Fenris moved his hand for him. “I don’t care. Even if it doesn’t hurt now, it will. So just heal it.”

And Anders did.

Something in Hawke was relaxing. If Fenris could get Anders to take care of himself, that was something. He allowed himself to look up. Orana and Bodahn were lingering by the door, as he had thought. He caught Orana’s eye.

“Some tea,” he said.

She gave a swift curtsey and left, grateful to be able to help. He would thank her later. Some gift. What gift was big enough to say ‘Thank you for saving my boyfriend’s life’? Maybe nothing was - could be. He supposed Fenris had saved Anders, really, by not wanting him dead, but even so. Something for Orana for bringing him here. Something nice.

He looked to Bodahn, speaking quietly, not wanting to disturb Anders, whose attention was on Fenris now. “Do you have something for sleep?”

The dwarf nodded. “Yes, Meserre.” And he, too, was gone.

Anders was calmer now. The healing probably helped. Fenris gently but firmly talking him through it probably helped more.

Meeting the elf’s eyes, he knew Fenris had been following what he said to the servants as well. Without Hawke having to ask, he joined him helping Anders to stand, walking him over to the bed.

Anders raised an eyebrow in an almost comforting expression that said, 'I know what you are doing.' But he allowed himself to be led, to be pressed onto the pillows, wrapped in the rumpled covers.

“It smells of you,” Anders said, tiredly, stroking Fenris’s hand.

A small smirk. “Sweaty elf,” Fenris said.

“Lyrium and musk,” Anders countered.

“‘Musk’ is an Orlesian word for sweat.”

Anders smiled, “‘Sweat that I find attractive,’ I always thought.”

It was good if they were able to tease each other, Hawke thought; although he could not ignore that such teasing might also be called flirting.

Bodahn arrived with the sleeping draft not long after, and Anders took it with little complaint. He seemed both tired and embarrassed by the night's events.

“We will not leave you,” Fenris said, holding the mage’s hand as he started to doze off. Something flashed between them – gratitude, and an understanding that somehow put Hawke on the outside. Of course they would not leave him. Not when he might hurt himself again. Not when he was so clearly distressed. But there was something else here. Something Fenris had known without having to be told; something that Hawke did not.

Something he needed to ask Fenris about instead of becoming jealous.

They waited for the tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tea, everyone must wait politely for tea. It's the British in me. In times of difficulty, one drinks tea. It is too deeply ingrained in me. It doesn't feel particularly Free Marcherish, but as Tevinter seems to be some blend of British and Roman imperialism I'm going to excuse Hawke's tea-drinking as something Orana has instilled in him. Like, maybe she just started making it for elevenses, or whenever Hawke was feeling down, and Hawke decided he liked it. Yes. Tea. sorry-not-sorry


	35. Mabari

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris explains to Hawke why Anders should not be alone. Anders does not want to wake up; Fenris comforts him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for suicidal ideation (nothing realistic or graphic), discussion of suicide, and general depressive thoughts for Anders.
> 
> This chapter was harder to write than it should have been. The conversations worked so much better in my head? Anyway, hope it turned out OK in the end.

Anders had slipped off to sleep with little fuss. Hawke sensed that he welcomed oblivion.

He watched Fenris, sitting on the other side of the sleeping man, blowing on his tea. There was profound sadness in the elf’s eyes.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Hawke said.

“I know that,” Fenris said, not looking up.

“Not just because he told you to do it,” Hawke went on, ignoring the tone in Fenris’s voice. The elf didn’t want to talk. Or at least, he didn’t want to talk about this. But Hawke needed to say it, needed to try to understand it. “I can’t imagine how terrible it must have been. To be hurting him like that, when you didn’t-”

“No, you can’t,” Fenris said, with a tone of finality.

Hawke let it drop. Looked down at the freckled arm by his side with its soft, golden hairs. He let his hand rest on Anders’ skin. Felt the warmth. Wished connecting to Anders again could be as easy as touching him.

“I just wish I knew what he’s feeling,” he said, quietly.

That made Fenris look up, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. “No,” he said. “You don’t. He wants to die. You don’t want to feel that. It wouldn’t help.”

Hawke coloured. “No, but…” he put his cup down on the bedside table and rubbed his face. “But I… I don’t know how to help,” he said, clearing his throat when he heard his voice wobble, his throat constricted by emotion. “I don’t know what he means when he tries to explain.” He desperately wanted to hold himself together, to be a rock for both Anders and Fenris. But he felt so at sea. “I know why he’s sad. I know what Danarius did had to… had to be very difficult. But I don’t know why he’d want to hurt himself. It’s over. You killed the bastard. And I know the spell isn’t over, but… he was managing before. And Randara Amell will come when she gets his letter…”

“It’s not that,” Fenris said, halting his spew of words.

“ _I know_ ,” Hawke said, his emphasis quiet but firm. “I know that it’s something I don’t understand. But I want to. I need to help him, Fenris.”

He rubbed his palm along Anders’ arm, clasped the mage’s hand in his own and brought it to his lips to kiss.

Fernis sighed, looking down at his tea. “It’s Justice.”

Hawke closed his eyes. Of course Fenris would say that. Had he really supposed the elf could move so quickly away from his antipathy? “Not everything is Justice’s fault, Fenris,” he said, tiredly.

Fenris shot him a dark look, as though he had said something particularly stupid. “I did not say it was the spirit’s fault,” Fenris said. “Have you not been listening? It is his _absence_ that is the problem. Anders can barely feel him. He is alone in his own mind.”

Hawke frowned. “So, now you’re suddenly in favour of Justice being Anders’ not-so-silent passenger?”

Fenris made a rough sound in the base of his throat. “As a general rule? No. This,” he gestured to Anders’ prone form. “was a terrible solution to a problem he should never have had to face. But that decision has been made. And now… he is alone again, after everything, with only Justice’s disgust to add to his own.”

Hawke floundered after the meaning of Fenris’s words. Felt like he was scrabbling at bits of something the elf assumed would be obvious to him.

“Anders joined with Justice to save the spirit’s life. I-I don’t see…?”

Fenris’s expressions were so different from Anders’. He could slip from intensity to blank stillness in moments, becoming unreadable. “But surely you know it wasn’t just that,” the elf said, his face a mask.

“Fenris,” Hawke said, “I know that you know, or think you know, something I don’t. Please don’t string it out.”

Fenris sat back, setting his cup aside. “I apologise,” Fenris said, in measured tones. “That was not my intent. I meant simply that Anders cannot be alone.”

“Well, no, not now,” Hawke said. “We’ll take care of him until he’s feeling more himself, but…”

“No,” Fenris said. “I mean that is why he joined with Justice.”

“No, but…”

“That might not be what he says when he speaks of it, but I’m sure that’s what it is. When I asked him, he didn’t deny it.”

Fenris paused to see if he now understood. “Fenris,” Hawke began, embarrassed by his own ignorance, no longer sure Fenris knew the answers he sought, but still determined.

“He… did tell you they confined him for a year?” Fenris asked, frowning now.

“I-” The change in tack surprised him. “For his protection, yes. He told me the First Enchanter had offered it as an alternative to being made Tranquil.”

Fenris’s eyebrows shot up. “You… you thought it was for his protection? You thought this was a good thing?”

Hawke coloured. “Not _good_. Obviously it’s better not to be imprisoned. But I – I’ve seen what they did to his back. And with everything he talks about, he almost never mentions _that_. I-I thought… There are worse things than being alone.”

Fenris blinked. “No, Hawke,” he said gently, as though explaining something to a child. “There are very few things that are worse than being alone. Entirely alone, with nothing but yourself. And for a year… He didn’t have to tell me - it destroyed him. No one could survive that. In Tevinter, they put you alone like that if they want to completely break you down. They do it when the whip has not worked.”

Fenris looked down at Anders, sadness and regret unmistakable in a rare, unguarded moment. “Perhaps he had other motives as well. And I have seen enough to know that Justice is not everything I had thought. But he took advantage.” He laced his fingers between Anders’.

“I always wondered how he could rave so against blood magic when he had dealt with a demon himself,” Fenris said, softly. “I assumed it must be a lie – an act. I know now I was wrong. Or rather, the lie is not what I thought. He does hate blood magic. Dealing with demons. It is not a thing he would do. He doesn’t lie about his disgust. He lies to himself about what he has done.”

“I thought you had got over calling Justice a demon,” Hawke said.

Fenris sighed. “That’s not what I meant. He might say he did this to save his friend. He might even believe it. But the chance to never be alone again? How could he refuse that?”

He squeezed Anders’ hand. “But now he is. Justice has deserted him. At any other time I would wish him gone forever, but now? At this moment? We must call the spirit back.”

 

***

Anders returned to consciousness sluggishly, the sleeping draft clinging to him and threatening to take him back under. He could feel the warmth of two bodies lying close beside him. Had a moment of pleased interest, wondering how he had managed to get so lucky, and who with. He opened his eyes to dim light and the canopy of a four-poster bed above him. His mind dimly registered it as a luxury, but did not place it. He shifted so he could look at the body to his left.

Wide green eyes met his from beneath a fringe of white hair. Fenris.

Memories returned. He knew where he was. He knew why he was there. He knew what he had done.

He closed his eyes and willed the mattress to swallow him. To be lost in darkness. To sink to the depths of the ocean and be buried under its pressure.

Soft lips against his shocked him into opening his eyes.

Fenris was looking down at him.

“I am here,” the elf said, his voice a low rumble, almost a comfort.

Anders closed his eyes and willed everything to go away. He could not talk to Fenris. What could he possibly say? “Sorry I used your body as a tool for my own destruction?” No.

Lips on his again. An insistent pressure. Fenris’s hand on his chest.

Anders glared at him. “What are you doing?” he hissed.

“Kissing you,” the elf said.

“Yes,” Anders said. “Why?”

“To make you open your eyes,” he replied. “It seems to be working.”

Anders sighed and closed his them again. He couldn’t deal with this on top of everything else.

Fenris’s lips. Chaste, closed, as before. Then parting. Just the tip of his tongue wetting Anders’ own. His traitor mouth opening to let that tongue dart in, lips closing around his top lip, Fenris’s breath against his cheek.

He turned his head away. “Stop it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to be awake. I don’t want to be in the world. And you don’t want to be doing this.”

“Don’t tell me what to want,” a note of warning in that rich, dry voice. “And don’t tell me to ‘stop it’. Ask me things, don’t tell me. You know this.”

Shame washing over him like a flood, threatening to pull him under in its currents. He had done it again. “I’m sorry,” he said, fumbling for appropriate words. “I didn’t mean to tell you. Do as you wish. Want as you wish.”

He felt Fenris shift beside him. “I… know it is difficult. We should have a way for you to say you would like me to stop without ordering it.”

“Like a safe word… but the opposite,” Anders said, engaging in spite of himself. He kept his eyes closed.

“I don’t know the term,” Fenris said.

“It’s a word you agree with someone that means ‘stop’ so you can say things like ‘no’ and ‘stop’ without being taken seriously.”

He could sense Fenris’s consternation. “Why would someone want that?”

Anders shrugged. “Some people like it. They like the fantasy of being forced.”

Fenris was silent a few moments. “This is something _you_ like?” Concern? Disgust? Notes of disbelief?

“No. Yes. I tried it a few times. In the Pearl. A long time ago,” he said. “I don’t think it’s something I’d want to play with anymore,” he added, quietly.

Fenris, cleared his throat. “Well. The opposite then. Pick a word and tell me that if you say it you would like me to stop, but I don’t have to.”

In spite of himself, Anders chuckled. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing a safe word with you.”

“The opposite,” Fenris insisted.

He smiled. “‘Mabari’, then,” Anders said. “If I say ‘mabari’ it will mean I’d like you to stop… whatever it is you’re doing, but it isn’t a command. I’ll try to remember to say that and not… not order you around.”

“Good,” Fenris said. Then slender fingers were caressing his neck. “Now, open your eyes.”

“I’d rather not,” he said.

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“The world will not go away simply because you close your eyes to it.”

Anders grunted.

“May I kiss you again?”

Anders frowned, but found him smiling in spite of himself. “Why would you want to? I’m surprised you can even bear to be in the same room as me.”

“I told you I wouldn’t leave you,” Fenris said. “And you promised you would not order me to hurt you again.”

Anders shuddered at the memory and fell silent.

“May I?” Fenris repeated.

“I – you,” Anders stammered. “You can’t want that. Ah – mabari.” He lifted a hand to cover his face, embarrassed.

“Because you still think I hate you?” Fenris said.

“Not hating is not the same as actively wanting to kiss. You don’t have to do these things, Fenris. Justice doesn’t seem to care right now.”

“And I do not want to kiss Justice,” Fenris said. “But I also do not want to do something that makes you uncomfortable. I thought you were enjoying it, that’s all. I won’t press.”

They lay in silence for a while, then, listening to Hawke’s steady, rhythmic breathing.

Eventually, Fenris broke it, his words soft. “You asked me once if I had ever wanted to kill myself. Do you remember?”

Anders squeezed his eyelids together. “Yes, I remember. I’m sorry. That was – that was tactless.”

Fenris’s hair tickled him as he shook his head. “You do not need to apologise. I – I thought you were saying it to needle me. I thought you meant to imply that I was weak. Because I had allowed myself to be enslaved.”

Anders groaned. The impulse to melt into the bed returned. He imagined it, dribbling away to nothing or being pounded to oblivion by a hammer. Anything to destroy himself and cease to exist.

Fenris ran a hand along his arm. “Shhhh,” he shushed. “I did not mean to distress you. I only meant… I had not realised it was something you had considered. You were trying to relate, and I-”

“I was being a selfish prick,” Anders said. “And I am weak. You were always right about that.”

Fenris reached across his chest and pulled Anders in tightly. “No. No. You’re stronger than I ever realised. And I understand now how that strength drew on your rage. You must not start blaming yourself for what has been done to you.”

“And what about the things I have done to you?” Anders breathed.

“No,” Fenris said again. “You must not blame yourself for the things he made you do. This is the first rule.”

“The first rule?” he said. “The first rule of what?”

“Survival,” Fenris replied. “Burying him.”

Tears rose like heat under his eyelids, but he refused to open them. “What I did to you last night wasn’t at his command.”

“It’s still his fault,” Fenris insisted. “It was his spell. His binding that drove you to it. _This is not who you are_ ,” Fenris’s hand rubbed firmly down his arm. “And you will get to a place where you can see that. Just stay with us.”

Anders shook his head, the tears spilling down his cheek. Fenris didn’t know. Couldn’t know. Things never got better for him.


	36. Fenris goes shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris goes present-shopping for Anders and bumps into Isabela.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for discussion of suicide, but this is mostly a much fluffier chapter. Bit of an angst-reprieve.

Not long after Hawke awoke, Fenris made his excuses and left.

He did not like to leave Anders, and the look the mage had given him as he’d pulled on his armour had cut. Resignation, was what he read. As though something had been confirmed. As though nothing he had said that morning meant anything at all.

He assured both Anders and Hawke that he would be back shortly, but he knew words were not enough. Which was precisely why he needed to head out, if only for a short while. Anders needed more than empty words.

Hawke would be there. And Orana and Bodahn and Sandal.

He’d hoped the dog might be a comfort to Anders, even though the man preferred cats. His attention to Fenris previously had made it seem as though Dogger had a sense for when people were in need. But the way the mabari had yelped and run away at the sight of the mage made that unlikely. Fenris supposed a lightning bolt to the face was not so easily forgotten.

There was nothing he could do about that, Fenris supposed.

The golden sunlight of a Kirkwall morning was a blessing on his face. Hightown was beautiful early in the day, the tall buildings making for long shadows that contrasted pleasantly with warm shafts of light. Fenris liked the climate here. Not so hot as Tevinter, but not as cool as the southern lands either. The sea breezes kept the air from becoming stale and heavy.

He made his way to the market and, after a little searching, found the mage stall. He nodded briefly at the bearded man he supposed from the sign to be ‘Jean Luc’, then looked quickly away. He was conscious of his ignorance of mage attire and not keen to expose it.

But, looking over the array of mage robes, his lack of knowledge was galling. He had never seen Anders wear anything like these.

“Fenris!” a familiar voice called from behind. “Of all the places to find you!”

He turned, schooled his features to blankness… but found that something about Isabela made it hard not to smile in greeting.

The pirate grinned broadly at him, golden light glinting off her jewellery. “What in Thedas are you looking at robes for?”

He flushed. “I, ah, recently damaged some of Anders’ clothing. I hadn’t realised he had so few spares. I owe him a shirt,” Fenris ended, sounding unconvincing to his own ears.

Isabela folded her arms underneath her ample bosom. “And you thought he would like something that screamed ‘Hello, I’m a mage, please return me to the Circle,’ did you?”

Fenris shrugged, looking at his feet. “He is a mage. They sell mage things here. I assumed mages wore such things for a reason…”

Isabela snorted. “Yes, and if you ask Anders what it is, he’ll tell you it’s for sex.”

“What?” That made Fenris look up.

Isabela cackled. “I don’t know whether I _believe_ him or not, but it’s certainly what he used to say. Something about robes being convenient for a quick fumble when the Templars aren’t looking. But you’ll notice he doesn’t wear them these days.”

She sighed and unfolded her arms. “I think they do tend to be enchanted,” she conceded. “But Anders has his wretched coat for that.” She looked at him piercingly. “You didn’t break _that_ did you?”

“No,” he said. “Although I suspect it needs cleaning.”

“When doesn’t it?” Isabela laughed. “Alright, come on. If you want to get Anders a shirt you need to visit a more mundane tailor. How badly did you fuck up?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure you could get a cheap replacement for that stained thing he usually wears for a copper in Lowtown. If you’re thumbing through ‘Robes by Jean Luc’ this is an apology, right? Did Hawke yell at you about it?” Fenris avoided her eyes. “Is this a ‘Here’s your poxy shirt’ sort of thing, or is it more of a ‘Please stop yelling at me Hawke, Anders will look beautiful in this, now go away and fuck him silly’ kind of a thing?”

 _More of a “I’m sorry I made you want to die, please remember you have things to live for” kind of a thing_ , Fenris thought. _Do they make shirts like that?_ But to Isabela he ducked his head and shrugged. “Uh, the latter.”

She whistled. “OK, I know the place.” Then she was dragging him up the steps to the upper level of the market and into a store that was actually housed in a building. There were several racks of clothes near the entrance, along with a manikin dressed in something with so much lace it could only have been Orlesian. There was a counter with a neatly attired young woman behind it, and an older woman so finely appointed she could have been taken for nobility.

The younger woman’s eyes went wide when she saw Isabela, clearly appalled at the pirate’s minimal approach to clothes, but the older lady smiled in recognition. 

“Isabela, my dear,” she said, with an accent he couldn’t quite place. “How may I help you today?”

“Enjita,” Isabela greeted her. “My friend needs to apologise to my other friend and he wants to do it with clothing. _Expensive_ clothing. I told him you could assist.”

Enjita gave him an appraising look, and Fenris was suddenly conscious that he had not bathed fully since the battle, and the woman likely didn’t get many fully armoured men in her little boutique. But she smiled at him and beckoned him closer as though there was nothing amiss. “But of course, what were you thinking of? Tell me about this friend.”

Isabela laughed. “Oh, Fenris doesn’t really have the faintest idea what he wants, but something in a men’s shirt would be good. Something quality. Something to make delicate nobles swoon when he passes.”

“But – reasonably hard wearing,” Fenris interjected. “Our mutual friend is an… active man.”

She nodded. “Of course. Do you know your friend’s measurements?”

Heat rose in his cheeks. He hadn’t thought of that. “I – uh, I’m not sure?”

Isabela rolled her eyes. “He’s well built in the chest, but slender in the waist. I’d say a 40? 42?”

Enjita made a little moue of disappointment, “He sounds divine, my dear, but you know accurate measurements make such a difference.”

“I know,” Isabela sighed, “But it is to be a present.”

“Well, it is better to be too large than too small. If it is too big please do encourage him to visit us for a fitting,” Enjita said. “Now, what colour were you thinking?”

“Blue,” Fenris said, a little too quickly, remembering how Anders had looked in Hawke’s shirt.

Isabela gave him a funny look. “I’m not sure how well that would go with that coat of his. How about a nice, forest green? Or, ooh! What about red?” She leant in and spoke to Enjita in conspiratorial tones. “He has the most beautiful blond hair. Something just a few shades darker than crimson would be _divine_.”

Fenris glared at her. “ _Wench_.”

She smirked at him. “Well, it would.”

Enjita smiled placatingly. “Blue, green, and red. I shall bring you a selection.”

Unfortunately, when she returned, Fenris found he liked all of them. He imagined Anders in each, and every image was appealing. Isabela was right, the red would go well with his hair; and Enjita had a blue that was very close to Hawke’s ruined shirt, which he already knew he liked; but the green would probably go best with the ridiculous coat. The shape and style of the garments meant nothing to him, although Isabela and Enjita talked with animation about them.

Once they had agreed on a style, Fenris grunted and said simply, “All of them. One in each colour.” He flushed under Isabela’s stare, feeling the heat in his ears, but didn’t waver. The mage should have more clothes in any case. It was ridiculous that nearly everything he owned could have been ruined in such a short space of time.

Enjita wrapped the garments in tissue paper to protect them, then again in brown paper to form a parcel, and they left.

As soon as they were outside, Isabela pulled him aside.

“What’s going on, Fenris? Just how much of Anders’ clothing have you been through?”

“I – he… It is not important.”

“Mmmm, no,” Isabela said, standing in his way as he tried to push past. “I know something’s up. Everyone’s been acting weird and cagey for the last week. Even Merrill won’t tell me what it’s about, although her attempts at evasion are _adorable_. And now you’re buying Anders fine shirts in three different colours from Enjita?”

“The shirts were your idea,” Fenris protested.

“Yes, because before I came along you, the mage-hating elf, were dithering over what _magic robe_ to buy your least favourite apostate. I know you’ve been holed up in Hawke’s for days, but I’d heard you were the one injured, not Anders.”

He looked away. There was too much to say, and he was not the one to say it.

“Is – is Anders OK?” Isabela asked, a note of worry in her voice now.

“He will be fine,” Fenris said, with a confidence he didn’t feel.

Isabela shoved him back against the wall hard enough that he nearly lost his grip on the parcel.

“Damn you, Fenris,” she said. “What happened?”

He cleared his throat. “Danarius attacked Hawke’s estate to get to me. Anders was injured. He is recovering.” All true enough. Although how well Anders might recover remained to be seen.

Isabela swore. “And you weren’t going to tell me this because…?”

“It… is not my place,” Fenris said, knowing it was inadequate.

“Not your place?” She rolled her eyes. “Fine! He’s at Hawke’s estate, is he? Well, I’ll go to see him myself.”

“No, wait – Isabela,” he grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “He needs to rest. Please.”

“Why?” she glared at him. “What aren’t you telling me? For fuck’s sake, Fenris, I’ve known him longer than anyone. But something happens to him and no one thinks to say a word? What is it about me that made you all decide I didn’t need to know that my friend had been hurt? Or what’s been going on for the past week? I thought at least _we_ were friends, Fenris.”

“We are,” he said, earnestly. “But it is complicated.”

She wrenched her arm free and turned to go. “I don’t _care_.”

“He tried to kill himself,” Fenris blurted out, slamming his palm over his mouth as though to call the words back.

Isabela turned slowly, staring.

“Last night,” Fenris added. “Nobody knows outside the house. Not Merrill, not Varric, no one. It just happened. He wasn’t _fine_ before, but what Danarius did… it is my fault. He is not himself. His spirit is hiding from him.” He looked down at the parcel in his hands, feeling how meaningless it was in the face of his confession. “I thought… I did destroy his shirt. I had promised to buy him a new one. It is… stupid. But. I thought… if I could get him some things. Something to make him feel good about being himself. Without Justice…”

Isabela’s eyes were glassy, her hands at her sides, all her bravado gone. “He – he really…?”

Fenris nodded, his words run out.

She brushed at her face where tears had started to fall from her over-full eyes. “And you weren’t going to say a thing!”

He looked down, ashamed. “I don’t know if he would want anyone to know. It didn’t seem like it was my place to say.”

“I have to go see him,” she said, turning to go again.

“No, Isabela-”

“I’m his _friend_ , Fenris. His oldest friend – I know I play the heartless bitch, but-”

“That’s not it,” he said, quietly. “He is still very… fragile. And I think he is embarrassed. Let me talk to Hawke first. Let me give him some warning.”

She sighed, brushing more tears from her face, but nodded. She looked suddenly very lost and alone. Perhaps it had been wrong to keep it all from her.

“And help me choose him some better presents,” he offered, and was rewarded by a half-hearted laugh. “You knew him before he was joined with Justice. Tell me what things he liked then. What made him happy?”

“You mean, apart from sex?” she said, trying for her usual naughty smile, but the edges twisted down with emotion. “He liked to feel pretty.” She sighed. “He used to be very vain, you know. Nice shirts aren’t such a terrible idea. I’ve often thought of buying him something better to wear, if I didn’t think he’d just sell it for that blasted clinic of his.”

She took his arm in hers and began to lead him back to the main thoroughfare. “Jewellery,” she said. “He likes jewellery. And we should get him some face cream.” Fenris looked at her sceptically, but she went on. “Trust me. I think he’d enjoy the opportunity to pamper himself without Justice telling him he has better things to do.”

And so Fenris allowed himself to be led about Hightown market, with Isabela selecting a world of things he never would have thought of to buy the mage, until at last she took him to a little stall that sold earrings and necklaces and all manner of trinkets he would have normally dismissed, as they were not even enchanted.

“An earring,” she said. “He has a pierced ear. He used to think it made him look rakish.” She gave a lopsided smile and confessed. “It did. Just a little. Although he only had to open his mouth to spoil the effect. Pick one.”

He shifted uncomfortably, aware again that he had no knowledge of things like this. In Tevinter he had never worn anything Danarius had not selected for him, and these days he mostly wore whatever would be most comfortable under his armour. But his eye was drawn to an earring with a cage like a golden droplet hanging down from the post, a red gemstone captured inside. Red and gold, like the mage’s hair.

“This one,” he said, and Isabela squeezed his arm.

“Yes,” she said. “I think he’ll like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have been meaning for Fenris to go present-shopping for Anders for a while now. And _of course_ Isabela had to help, because she's the only one who knows what pre-Justice Anders would like. But I also knew that Isabela would need to know just why the broody elf suddenly wanted to get the abomination nice things. And there's the whole nobody-told-Isabela-about-anything-because-she-never-would-have-shut-up-about-the-sex thing. And having Fenris explain without her completely flipping her shit was a challenge I was putting off writing, but hopefully it worked out OK?


	37. Fenris presents his presents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris returns to Hawke's estate and presents his gifts to a confused Anders. Anders explains to the elf why it would take more than a few gifts to make him happy and Fenris tries to convince him he is wrong.

When Fenris returned to Hawke’s estate, he found Orana in charge of a small crew of people. The rugs had been rolled up in the living room, library, and hall, and the floors were being scrubbed, whilst Orana devoted rather more careful attention to the books herself.

Fenris headed towards his room, but Orana spotted him and set down the tome she had been carefully cleaning.

“Meserre Anders is in the master bedroom, Serrah,” she said, ducking her head in a way that always made him uncomfortable. And yet, it was good to see how far she had come. She spoke with quiet dignity and hadn’t hesitated to approach him.

“Thank you, Orana,” he said, simply, and headed for the stairs.

Hawke’s room was rather more crowded than he’d expected. Hawke was absent, but had left Anders in Bodahn and Sandal’s company.

“Why don’t you tell the meserre what you found in Meserre Hawke’s cellars,” Bodahn was encouraging the boy.

“I like the cellars,” the young man smiled pleasantly, but didn’t seem inclined to say anymore.

“Yes,” Bodahn said, “And you shouldn’t usually go down there, but-” Bodahn spotted Fenris standing in the doorway. “Serrah Fenris,” he said, standing up.

Anders turned weary eyes to him. Both surprise and relief flitted across your face.

“We weren’t sure when to expect you,” Bodahn said, getting up and giving a little bow.

Fenris cleared his throat. “I said I would not be gone long.”

“Of course, of course,” Bodahn said, giving Sandal a gentle push to urge him off the bed. “Come along, Sandal. Why don’t we see if Orana found that juicy bone we promised Dogger, hmmm?”

“Doggy!” Sandal exclaimed, clapping his hands, before being bustled out the door by his father.

In their absence, the room felt awkwardly empty and still. Fenris found himself rather over-conscious of the plethora of bags he carried. Anders was frowning as he glanced from them to Fenris’s face.

He shouldn’t have bought the mage gifts. As though what was wrong with Anders could be mended by some shirts and face cream. And what business did he have buying Anders such things anyway? They’d hardly spoken except to insult each other until a week ago.

But Anders’ brow cleared and he let out an exaggerated sigh. “Thank you. I know they mean well, but Sandal’s enthusiasm is… it’s a little much this morning. Are you going to come in?”

Fenris coughed. “Yes, of course.” The bags only became more obvious when he moved. He set them down by the edge of the bed before sitting next to Anders. “I have brought you some things, mage,” he said.

“So I see,” Anders said, quietly.

Fenris set his shoulders against the awkwardness and pulled out the package from Enjita first. “I owe you some clothing, I believe.”

Anders surprised him with a laugh. “I suppose you do. What did you get me – silky under-things, maybe?”

“What?” Fenris exclaimed, blushing bright red.

Anders snorted. “A joke, Fenris. I can still make them, you know.” Stiff fingers tore through the brown paper and tissue, but stopped when he touched the fabric underneath. He looked at Fenris quizzically, then shook the first shirt out.

The blue shirt. Fenris’s heart surprised him with a flutter. It mattered whether the mage liked it, he realised. Not just because he wanted to Anders to feel better. He wanted Anders to like the things he had chosen.

Anders sat holding the garment up without saying anything at first. Then he sighed, and laid it carefully down again.

“You know this isn’t the kind of thing I usually wear, don’t you?” Anders said.

Fenris’s heart sank. “You don’t like it.” He nodded to himself, but forced a smile to his face. “There are two others. Isabela suggested them, perhaps-”

Anders rolled his eyes. “I didn’t say I didn’t _like_ it, Fenris. It’s beautiful, I just… You didn’t have to. This must be worth ten times what I had before.” He ran his thumb over the embroidery on the cuffs. “At _least_.”

“So?” Fenris said.

“So… you didn’t have to, that’s all,” Anders riffled through the rest of the package, finding the other two shirts. “Maker, you really did get me three. You tore a pair of trousers I’ve already patched a dozen times and one stained tunic. And you bought me three fancy high-town, embroidered…” he sighed. “I can’t accept this.”

Fenris folded his arms. “You will. And you will accept everything else I bought, too.”

“I…” Anders peered over the side of the bed at the other bags, frowning at their number. “What?”

Fenris cleared his throat. The mage seemed set on making this awkward, but he had come here to give Anders gifts, and the man would just have to take them.

He pulled the closest bag onto the bed and pulled out the first thing he found. “Face cream,” he said, “Isabela said you would enjoy ‘pampering’ yourself with it. I don’t understand it, but it’s yours now.” He put the generously sized wooden pot down on the bed.

“Sugared plums. For eating, mage,” he said. “I hope that is not too confusing for you.” He pulled another bag onto the bed. “Several silk scarves. They are completely impractical and you are forbidden to sell them.”

“What?” said Anders again.

“Scarves, mage,” Fenris said, keeping his face expressionless. “You put them round your neck. These ones are decorative. They go with the shirts.”

He picked up another bag. “These ones are practical and are made of wool. You are forbidden to _give_ them away. They are yours, mage, and I don’t want to see them on children in Darktown.”

“Fenris, I don’t _need_ a scarf. You expect me to wear these while children-”

“I didn’t buy these for children. I bought them for _you_. Starving children will always need more. But so do you, these are yours.”

“But I don’t need them, Fenris,” the mage protested. “I’m not starving, I’m not-”

“Not what? Not dying?” Fenris asked pointedly.

Anders inhaled sharply and looked away. “Not of _cold_ ,” he said, after a few shaky breaths.

“I know that,” Fenris said, softening his tone a little, resisting the urge to simply _argue_ with the mage. “But Isabela said you would like the silk ones, and _I_ wanted you to have something you could actually use. So I bought both. And now they are yours and you are not to give them away.”

“Fenris,” Anders began, but Fenris could hear the emotion in his voice.

“I’m not done,” he said, before the mage could wrap him up in whatever conversation he thought they needed to have about this. “A belt,” he said, dumping what was actually one of the more expensive items unceremoniously on the mage’s lap. “It’s been enchanted to enhance healing magic. And this,” he said, pulling a small box from the last bag, feeling the thrill of nerves rise up in him again, trying to ignore them. He placed it gently in Anders’ hand, ignoring the part of him that wanted to throw it at the man’s face for making this difficult. “It is…” he began, then sighed. “Well, you will see.”

Frowning, Anders opened the box. He blinked and raised his eyebrows. A finger poked inside. “Fenris,” the mage said with wide eyes. “What _is_ this?”

“An _earring_ , mage,” Fenris replied in his driest tone. “It is for your _ear_.”

He thought Anders might snap back at him, but instead the man reached out and took his hand. “I know that, Fenris. But why are you giving it to me?”

“Because you have a pierced ear, obviously.”

Anders let go of Fenris’s hand to pull at his earlobe self-consciously. “Right, sure. But why have you, Fenris, got me, Anders, a gold earring? Or an enchanted belt, for that matter? Why have you got me a gold earring, an enchanted belt, three embroidered shirts, six scarves, and some sugared plumbs?”

Fenris sighed. “To make you feel better,” he said, not meeting the mage’s eyes.

Anders carefully put the box down, moved some of his presents aside, and shifted himself to sit forward in the bed. “You know that’s not how it works, right?” he asked, quietly. “These are… very nice. But I’m not going to just… feel better because you bought me some nice things. I wish I could but… but _things_ aren’t better with me. And they’re never going to get better. I tried to tell Hawke. I warned him, but… but you… You must know it isn’t that easy.”

“That’s not…” Fenris pursed his lips and tried again. “I’m not trying to make you feel better with a few gifts,” he said. “But you are sad because Justice has deserted you. And these… these are for you. Things that _you_ would like. Not him. Things that Isabela said you would have liked when you knew her before. When it was just you. Because _you_ deserve to have nice things.” It was stupid trying to find the right words. He was not good at this.

He risked a glance at the mage and found him staring at the ceiling, his eyes full. “You think I feel this way because Justice is hiding from me.”

“Not entirely, but-”

“It’s not that,” Anders whispered. He closed his eyes and the tears tracked down his cheeks. “I know I’m not saying it right. I know Hawke doesn’t understand when I try to explain. I thought maybe you might, but you always had _hope_ didn’t you?” He opened his eyes and looked down at Fenris. “You really believed you could defeat him, and you did.” Eyes closed again. “But I can’t. There isn’t any hope for me, Fenris. Not anymore. There’s no one person I can defeat and just be free. I’m never going to be free. Things _don’t get better_ for me. They never have. They look like they’re going to, but then they just get worse.”

He sniffed and rubbed the tears from his face. “Escaped from the Circle, and they brought me back. Six times. And I thought… I thought I was saved, because they didn’t make me Tranquil. They just kept me apart, by myself. And I thought that would be better, but it wasn’t…” he sniffed again. “And then I wasn’t by myself. There was this cat. Mr Wiggums. And I know it’s stupid, but he became my whole world. I don’t think I would have survived except… But then… Did you know cats could get possessed? It turns out they can. If they’re angry enough…”

Fenris frowned, feeling like he was getting half a story, but he let the mage talk on.

“And then I did escape. Really escape. Got as far as Amaranthine before I was captured by Templars. Again. But then darkspawn attacked and killed the Templars. And maybe darkspawn aren’t generally a good thing, but when they kill someone who wants to kill you it’s not so bad. And anyway, I killed the darkspawn… And the Hero of Fereldan was there. Just appeared behind me. And she maybe thought _I_ killed the Templars. But she didn’t care. She didn’t give me back to them. And you might think – that’s some kind of luck – and she was even going to help me find my phylactery, but…”

Fenris frowned at the unfamiliar word, wanted to interrupt, stop the mage from babbling, but if Anders was finally willing to talk… He should listen. There was something here that mattered to Anders. Mattered deeply.

“But she invoked the right of conscription to save me. And I thought I wanted to be a Grey Warden. I thought that meant freedom. But it was just a different kind of leash. Shortened life. Darkspawn dreams. And it turns out they’re not so great when they aren’t killing Templars.”

Anders had stopped crying now, but his attempt at humour felt by-rote. Something he had learnt to say about things that had happened, rather than something he felt. “And then the Grey Wardens _recruited_ Templars. And the Commander was gone. And – and I was alone with them. And they took my cat!”

Fenris frowned. “Mr Wiggums?”

Anders looked at him like he’d said something daft. “No. Mr Wiggums was dead. This was Ser Pounce-a-lot.”

“Ser… Pounce-a-lot? Mage, you should not name animals.”

“Pounce is a perfectly fine name,” the mage said, with a haughtiness that was belied by his red and tired eyes. “Anyway, I had to give him up too. And I was all alone with them. The Templars. And Justice was rotting away in Kristoff’s corpse. And I could save him, but – but then I… We…” More tears spilled down his cheeks, but then the mage gave a brittle laugh. “We did every terrible thing you ever thought about me, I suppose. They attacked us… me. And we killed them all.”

Fenris shivered. Heard the echo of his confession to Hawke in the mage’s words. The Fog Warriors. _I killed them all_.

“I know what you think about me,” the mage was saying. “But I don’t actually kill a lot of Templars, not if they aren’t hurting anyone. And I didn’t _just_ kill them. I – I don’t remember it. But when I came back to myself… it… it was grotesque.”

The mage rubbed at his face and let out a long sigh. “So I ran away again. Because that’s what I do. And I came to Kirkwall. And I finally started to do some good. And I was writing to Karl. And Hawke was going to help me save him… but you know how that ended… It doesn’t get better, Fenris. It looks like it’s going to, and then it just gets that much worse.” He sighed. “And now I know it’s never going to get better at all.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, Fenris waiting to see if the mage would say anything else. But when it was clear Anders was done, he spoke. “You don’t know that. Hawke’s cousin is coming. Your commander. She will break this curse and you will be free.”

Anders groaned and buried his head in his hands. “That’s just the _point_ , Fenris. There isn’t any _me_ left to be free.”

Fenris put a hand on the mage’s leg and squeezed. “You’re right here.”

He shook his head. “No. No, I’m not. Justice is here. I am… just an echo. I’m not a man anymore. If a human being was in charge of my body, Danarius couldn’t have bound me like that. I could have fought him. Or he could have taken Justice from me and put him into you, like we thought he would. But he didn’t. He just… bound me to his will. You can’t do that to a human being. I’m not… I’m not real anymore.”

Fenris stared at him. He really believed that. And for just a moment the trickle of doubt, of disquiet – that this man he was, in spite of himself, coming to care for, might be nothing more than an illusion on the surface of a spirit – for a moment the possibility wormed its way into his mind and the horror of it threatened to consume him.

And then it was gone. For a moment he understood the terror that Anders had been held under since Danarius had bound him, but he knew that Anders was wrong. And he had to show the mage that he was.

“Anders,” he said, grabbing the carved wooden pot from the bed. “Does Justice like face cream?”

“What?” The mage stared at him with tired, red-rimmed eyes.

“Would he even know what to do with it?” Fenris asked. “I can’t imagine he would. I don’t. But you would, wouldn’t you?”

Anders sighed. “Memories, Fenris, I…”

“Does Justice like scarves, or fancy shirts from Enjita?” he pressed.

Anders’ eyes widened as he glanced down at the shirts in spite of himself. “These are from Enjita?”

“Yes, and apparently that means something to you. Not just a memory. You feel something about it. You care. Justice wouldn’t care. He’d just sell them and put the money to your _cause_. And this,” he grabbed the small jewellery box that contained the earring. “You cannot tell me Justice would have time for this. I did not even realise your ear was pierced. But Isabela remembers you wearing earrings.”

“People change, Fenris,” Anders said, a little sadly.

“So, you don’t like it.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Do you like it?” Fenris pressed.

Anders flushed and took the box from Fenris’s hand, opened it, and looked at the small, golden drop. “Yes,” he said, quietly, and sighed. “I love it, it’s beautiful, Fenris.”

A warm tingle spread through him. “Well, then,” he said. “You love it. You think it is beautiful, not Justice. You.”

Anders closed his eyes and leant his head back. The ghost of a smile graced his face. The mage snorted. “You know, if I say you’re right, I just might have to kill myself, so…”

Fenris hit him, playfully on the leg. “Don’t joke about that mage.”

Anders’ eyes cracked open and he looked down his long, beautiful nose at Fenris, smirking. “Stop me,” he said. And then, after a pause: “Mabari.”

It was a dare. An invitation. And the turnaround might have seemed sudden, except that Fenris could still see the fragility hidden underneath the mage’s smile. Half of the dare was to prove him wrong, to prove that this strange flirtation between them – the presents, everything else – was nothing. An illusion. Fenris ignored that part.

He moved forward. Not quickly, but with purpose. Leaning over the mage until he had an arm on either side of him. And then bending down. Brushing Anders’ lips with his own until they opened.

A hitch in Anders’ breath. Then Fenris closed his mouth on the mage’s top lip, brushing it lightly with his tongue, and Anders closed on him, also.

The mage’s hand came up to rest on his neck, fingers grazing underneath his hair.

Then Fenris pulled back, allowed them both to breathe. It would not be right to press further just now. 

“What is this?” Anders said softly, stroking his cheek.

“A kiss,” Fenris said, pleased when the mage groaned with frustration.

“Yes, but-”

“If I call it something now, you will argue with me. And I do not wish to argue,” Fenris said.

Anders looked at him, considering. Ran a finger along the line of his chin, then rested his hand on Fenris’s neck again.

“Alright,” he said at last. “But… _mabari_ , tell me it’s not just the spell. Tell me it’s not pity. I don’t want that.”

Fenris bent in and kissed him again. “It isn’t the spell. And it certainly isn’t pity.”

“Alright,” Anders said. “Alright.”


	38. Hawke and Anders talk it out

Hawke returned to find Anders and Fenris talking quietly in his bedroom.

He frowned to see that Bodahn had left them alone together. After what had happened last night… Hawke recalled his thought that Fenris had been like a sharp knife left around for Anders to find, and shuddered.

Yet… nothing had happened. Watching them from the doorway, he could see that Anders even looked a little better. He was smiling, and the smile widened when he caught Hawke’s eye.

“You’re back,” Anders said, and Fenris turned to look at him, too.

He sensed apprehension in Fenris’s glance and looked away, walking into the room.

“I’m sorry I was gone so long. I don’t think any trouble will come from what happened yesterday – having the Captain of the Guard for a friend doesn’t hurt – but there was more paperwork than I’d hoped.”

Anders smiled and held out his hand. Hawke took it, the warmth and presence of it startling. He wanted to cling on and never let go. Every second he was apart from Anders felt like a moment when the mage might disappear or melt away.

“Nevermind,” Anders was saying, “you’re back now.” Then he laughed. “Look at all these things Fenris got me!”

Hawke did. His room was fairly strewn with tissue paper, garments, and bags. He glanced at Fenris, but the elf was avoiding his gaze.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Fenris said, standing up.

“No, Fenris, stay,” Anders said, and Hawke could hear a note of fear in his lover’s voice that cut him, though the mage was clearly trying to keep his tone light. He caught Fenris’s hand and squeezed it.

Hawke saw the elf’s fingers tighten as he squeezed back. “I won’t go far. I promise. But you should talk to Hawke. Maybe think about getting dressed, now you have something to wear.”

Anders flushed red, glancing down a bundle of cloth that lay in his lap.

Fenris squeezed Anders’ hand again. “Tell me I can go,” he said, gently.

Anders looked up, eyes widening. “Sorry – sorry – I didn’t mean… _Mabari_ – you don’t have to stay; it wasn’t an order.”

Fenris nodded, and let go of Anders’ hand. “I’ll be right downstairs,” he said, then retreated from the room.

“‘Mabari’?” Hawke asked, sitting in the still warm space Fenris had left on the edge of the bed.

“We agreed on a word I could say when I fuck up and tell him what to do, so he knows he doesn’t have to,” Anders explained.

“Good idea,” Hawke said, his eyes roving over the items spread about the bed. “How many things did he get you?”

Anders smiled and rubbed his chin where his stubble was growing long from lack of attention. “A lot,” he admitted. “It’s all… rather sweet, actually. Apparently he bumped into Isabela and she helped him.”

He was looking a lot better, Hawke realised. A little more flush in the cheeks, talking more easily. The gifts were very well chosen, he realised, running his fingers over the cuff of a shirt he wouldn’t have even tried to buy Anders, assuming the healer would either refuse it or just sell it. But obviously Anders wasn’t feeling himself at the moment. And it should have been obvious that he needed a little more attention. That he deserved it. Hawke had thought about getting Orana a present, but not Anders.

“I should have done this for you,” he said with a sigh.

“Hey,” said Anders, “No – it’s nice, but, well… it is all a bit silly really.”

“It’s the silly little things that make all the difference,” Hawke said. “You do look better for it. You deserve to be bought nice things.”

Anders reached out and took his hand. “It’s not about the things,” he said. “I – I realised…” he cleared his throat. “I’ve been unfair to you, Hawke,” he said. “I wanted to apologise. I know how lonely you’ve been – everything with your family – and… it was selfish of me, to try to leave you like that.”

“No,” Hawke said quickly. “Not selfish. It’s OK, you don’t have to explain.”

“Yes, but I want to, I-” he looked away. “I didn’t think it mattered. Because I didn’t think you would actually be losing anything."

How could he possibly think that? How had he failed so badly at letting Anders know that he cared?

But Anders went on: "After what happened I thought… I thought you lost me a long time ago, and we just didn’t realise. I thought I didn’t exist anymore, and I was freeing you from a cruel lie.” Anders’ eyes gleamed wet with tears, and he blinked.

Hawke felt his own eyes prick with heat. “I don’t know what that means,” he confessed, feeling lost again, hopeless in his inability to help. “I want to understand, but I don’t know how you could think that you don’t exist.” His throat was tight, but he kept talking. “I don’t know how to show you, I-”

“It’s OK, Hawke,” Anders said. “I realise I was wrong, now. I… I thought I’d been… absorbed by Justice. Like I was still going through the motions of being a human being, but – but that if I were still real, if there were enough of me left, Danarius wouldn’t have been able to do what he did.” Anders’ fingers traced throough the hairs on Hawke’s arms. “But I was wrong.” He laughed and poked at a carved wooden pot beside him on the bed. “Justice doesn’t like face cream. Pretty shirts don’t make him happy. I know it sounds stupid,” he said. “But it was just so easy to believe the worst.”

“It doesn’t sound stupid at all,” Hawke said. He raised Anders’ hand to his lips and kissed it. “Don’t ever feel bad for the way he made you feel. That’s not your fault.”

Anders closed his eyes. “You’d be surprised,” he said. “How hard that is to believe.”

“Believe it,” Hawke said. “Please.”

Anders sniffed and nodded, then opened his eyes. He ran a finger along the lid of the pot, thoughtfully, then glanced up at Hawke. “I know you’re worried about me, but would you give me some time alone – just for a little while?”

Hawke stiffened, then regretted it as he saw the sag in Anders’ shoulders. “I just want to make sure you’re safe,” he said.

“I am,” Anders said. “I really am. I won’t try anything again. I just want to… get cleaned up. Use some of the nice things Fenris got me.”

Hawke couldn’t quite smother the fear that rose within him. “It – it’s just… if I do leave you alone. If I’m wrong and you… If no one’s here to stop you – that’s it. You’d be gone and… and I can’t lose you, Anders, I can’t.”

One careless moment. A moment’s hesitation, and Carver had run forward – taken on an ogre by himself – was gone. Letting Bethany stay behind when he went to the deep roads, not being there to protect her, and then she was gone, too. Lost to the Circle. He hadn’t even got to see her when mother…

And there had been mother. And how stupid he’d been to think she was safe. When he knew there was a killer loose in the city, a sick, sadistic bastard. And those fucking lilies, he should have-

“You _won’t_ lose me,” Anders words cut through his thoughts. “I just want to take a bath, and have a shave, and get dressed by myself.” Their eyes met, and Hawke thought he could see the sincerity there. “I just need a moment alone to breathe.”

Hawke took in a deep breath, then let it out. “You’re not shaving yourself,” he decided. “I believe you, but… I’m not going to put a knife in your hand. I won’t do it. I’ll ask Orana to draw you a bath, and I’ll leave you alone, but when you’re ready to shave, you call for Bodahn, OK?”

“OK,” Anders said, honey-brown eyes holding his.

“OK,” said Hawke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so looooooong. I just knew that Hawke and Anders were going to need to have a talk. And last chapter was Fenris and Anders having this really intense talk, and I was worried that covering a lot of the same ground could be pretty boring. And I was trying to think how or why Hawke would ever be willing to let up on the suicide watch when the consequences of misjudging that would be so bad, but I really want Anders to have some alone time with his presents. I can't imagine anything more awkward than trying to pamper yourself whilst your boyfriend watches you to make sure you don't do anything stupid.
> 
> Anyway, I hope it turned out alright in the end. Fingers crossed that I'm over my writing hump and we can move back towards plot (and maybe even sexy times) again.


	39. A necessary discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Hawke have a talk, and Anders shows off his new things.

Fenris was waiting downstairs, sitting on the bench near the fire.

Hawke remembered another time, not so very long ago, when Fenris had been waiting for him.

_I have been thinking of you… In fact, I have been able to think of little else…_

He paused on the landing, and wondered: _Who are you thinking of now, Fenris?_

Was he really jealous of the attention Fenris was paying to Anders? Was he jealous of the warmth that Anders returned?

Yes.

 _Do I still love Fenris?_ How many times had he asked himself that, and said ‘no’?

He loved Anders. He knew that. Had given himself wholly to Anders after Fenris had abandoned him. Knew he would not have left Anders for Fenris, if he had asked. Because Anders hadn’t left. Because Anders needed him. So many people had left him behind, but Anders had stayed.

Being with Anders was like… having a home again. Having Anders living with him in the estate had made it a home in a way the sudden influx of wealth and the Vicount’s signature never had.

He hadn’t been sure he’d ever feel at home again, after Lothering.

But now, the way Fenris and Anders looked at each other. Fenris buying Anders the presents Hawke should have bought him. Fenris understanding Anders in ways he did not.

Fenris who had seemed to hold only loathing for his lover. Who had hurt Anders in more ways than one.

What was he supposed to do with this?

He descended the stairs. Fenris glanced up at him, then away.

“I know,” he said, “it is too much. But when I was buying them it seemed like it couldn’t possibly be enough. And there was Isabela…” he waved a hand that looked naked without its gauntlet.

Hawke set down beside him. “Isabela…?” he asked, frowning.

“She… happened upon me,” Fenris said, still not looking at him. “I know it wasn’t for me to say, but… we should have told her sooner. It hurt her. To be excluded.”

Hawke closed his eyes. Of course it had. He had just wanted to protect his friends, but…

Fenris cleared his throat. “She’s not a joke, you know. She can be serious. And she cares for him.”

“I know,” Hawke breathed. “You’re right.”

“She’ll be coming by, later. I told her to give me time to tell you. To tell him. But she wants to visit. I think it would be good for him.”

Hawke nodded. “Yes, you’re right,” hesaid again.

They sat in silence, Fenris looking down at his hands, and Hawke failing to find a way to speak again.

“And you?” Fenris asked, finally meeting his gaze. “How are you, Hawke?”

He shook his head. How to answer that?

“Anxious,” he said, at last. “I don’t like leaving him alone. But he’s not a child. I don’t think it helps to make him feel like one.”

Fenris surprised him by taking his hand.

“He will be alright.”

Hawke grunted. “Yes. You found the right thing to say, didn’t you?” He tried to keep the bitterness from his voice, but…

“I said a lot of wrong things, first,” Fenris said, quietly.

Hawke closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them. “What’s happening between you two?” he asked, his chest tight. Terrified of the answer, but needing to know.

“I don’t know,” said Fenris, returning his gaze.

Hawke raised his eyebrows. “Fenris, don’t… obfuscate. I don’t want to upset anything – do anything that might hurt him – but I need to know.”

“Hawke, I am not trying to deceive you. I really don’t know.” The elf released his hand. “It has been a very strange week. I would not wager anything on what might come after all this, even assuming the best.”

“But you feel something for him,” Hawke pressed. “He feels something for you.” His throat closed down on the last word.

“I… want to protect him,” Fenris confessed. “I look at him and I see… everything Danarius did to me. I see that I failed to shield him from it, when Danarius came for me.” He rubbed at the back of his wrist, where the lines of lyrium met. “And I see that he is not at all the man I thought he was. I think I might like the man that he is. But it doesn’t make him any the less dangerous.” Fenris met his eyes again. “It is not at all the same as what you and he have. You must know this.”

Hawke shrugged. 

“I have promised not to abandon him, when this is over,” Fenris admitted. “I – would like to explore…” Fenris hunched his shoulders and looked away again. “But I would never do anything to come between you. Perhaps it is only friendship. And a spell. If you do not want it to be anything more, it won’t be.”

Hawke could not stop himself from voicing the bitter thoughts that rose up: “You wouldn’t abandon him. But you abandoned me.”

Fenris ducked his head, but spoke firmly: “Hawke, that’s not fair. When I was with you… I’d never felt like that. For anyone. And I’d never slept with anyone but Danarius. And you were… so different. It was overwhelming. And the memories…” He was pulling at the fingers of one hand distractedly. “I know I shouldn’t have left, but I couldn’t have done anything else.”

Hawke reached over and clasped the hand he was pulling at. “I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I just… I can’t lose him. I can’t.”

“You won’t,” Fenris said.

“You don’t know that,” Hawke said. “He’s a free being, just like you and me. And I’m not sure I can do this… complicated… unnamed…”

Fenris placed his other hand over Hawke’s. “It doesn’t have to be complicated. It doesn’t have to be unnamed. Maybe at first, but…” He looked into Hawke’s eyes, searching for something.

Hawke knew he should respond, but he didn’t know how to. Words evaded his ability to settle on thoughts and turn them into speech.

He was saved by noise on the landing above. Bodahn, carrying a bowl, towel, and shaving brush.

Hawke withdrew his hand from Fenris’s grasp.

“Meserre Anders is dressing and will be with you shortly,” the dwarf said to Hawke. “Can I get you anything?”

“Uh – some tea, maybe? In the library?”

“Of course, Meserre,” Bodahn said, and bustled away.

Fenris stood. “Did you want to…?” he gestured towards the library.

Hawke shook his head, a slow smile spreading across his lips. “No, I think Anders will want to make an entrance in all his new finery, don’t you?”

Fenris snorted. “I suppose he might.”

 

***

They did not have to wait long, which was a relief to Fenris. The conversation with Hawke had been blunter than he’d hoped to have to deal with whilst he was still sorting through how he felt himself. He hadn’t quite intended to suggest to Hawke what had come out of his mouth, and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

They had both thought it was done between them. He had been the one to end it. And yet…

Anders saved him from further introspection. He appeared at the top of the stairs with a flourish that displayed the flounced sleeve of his new shirt, then tugged at the high collar, which accentuated the lines of his neck.

Fenris’s heart leapt boyishly to see that he’d chosen the blue.

“What do you think?” Anders asked.

“Get down here so we can have a proper look at you,” said Hawke, rising from the bench.

Anders grinned and trotted down the stairs, taking Hawke in his arms and kissing him when he got to the bottom.

“Mmm,” Hawke hummed, rubbing his hand along Anders’ shaven cheek as he pulled away. “Smooth.”

It looked smooth. Fenris wondered if he’d ever seen Anders so cleanly shaven before. The stubble humans could grow held a certain fascination for Fenris, but there was something delightful in seeing Anders so. Something that felt just a little more elven, even though a man of Anders height and build was clearly not.

And younger. The mage looked younger. Not just the smooth skin and the clean clothes, but something in his bearing.

 _He did enjoy pampering himself_ , Fenris thought. _I must remember to thank Isabela_.

“And this?” Anders turned his head to display the golden droplet that now hung from his ear.

Isabela had said the earing would make Anders look rakish, but Fenris felt like there was something noble about it. Almost princely. The gold glinting in the light and setting off his hair.

He moved forward, slowly, prepared to stop if Hawke seemed to disapprove, but although Hawke kept an arm around Anders waist, his smile was encouraging.

Fenris reached up to touch the bauble, delighting as it slipped from his grasp and swung delicately from Anders’ ear.

He ran a curious finger along the mage’s smooth chin. A wonderful sensation. Not the same as an unshaved elven chin, and there was the slight film of something that might be the face cream. But nice. Pleasant.

He met the mage’s eyes and realised there was nervousness there.

“You look beautiful, Anders,” Fenris said.

The mage laughed. “OK, well, no need to exaggerate, but I’m glad you like it.”

“No, really,” Fenris said. “It suits you. All of it. You should take care of yourself more often.”

Anders flushed red – the change of colour all the more evident in his freshly shaven cheeks. “Anyway. Did I hear someone say something about tea? I’ve eaten half a dozen sugared plums and I could do with something to wash them down with.”

Hawke smiled and kissed his cheek. “In here. Bodahn is bringing it to the library.”

He led the way, his hand still resting on Anders’ hip, and Fenris trailed after.

It was nice, to share a moment with them like that. Without the enchanted urge to touch and feel and press into the mage. Was the how it could be?

But no, best not to hope for such things, not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no sex, but the boys do have some emotional things to work out.
> 
> FENRIS WOULD LIKE TO REQUEST POLYAMORY, Y/Y?


	40. A conversation with Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris has a plan for bringing Justice to the surface again. He finds himself in the strange position of convincing everyone else - including Justice - that it is a good idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to write. The muse was just not with me. It would much rather I write about other things right now and I didn't want to force out something prematurely and wind up with a disappointing result. Hopefully this works.
> 
> SO MANY ITALICS TAGS.

It was strange to sit with Hawke and Fenris and simply take tea.

Anders could feel Hawke’s protectiveness hovering over him, in little darted glances.

And there was Fenris, his knee not quite touching Anders’ thigh under the table, the heat of the elf’s body close enough to make his skin prickle. It was like the first, tentative moves towards flirting – the excitement of a new relationship – juxtaposed with the fact that they had already had sex, that he was already in love with Hawke, that a week ago the elf would have been revolted by the thought of his touch.

It was a ridiculous situation, and a sinking in his gut told Anders it could only end badly.

Hawke cleared his throat, and Anders moved his leg away from Fenris’s reflexively. “You said you had an idea for how we could bring Justice out again, Fenris,” Hawke said.

Anders coughed, choking on his tea. “You what?” He stared at Fenris, who met his eyes levelly. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Fenris shrugged. “I won’t lie and tell you I approve of you being joined to a… spirit,” the elf said, carefully, “but it’s clear you need him right now. For him to be wallowing in human emotions and pulling you down with him… it isn’t good.”

“And driving me to distraction, obsessing over you and your tattoos, that is, is it?” He wasn’t sure why he was challenging this. Anders needed Justice, badly. He had to work to stop himself reaching after the spirit when he was alone, or losing himself in the well of despair that seeped up from the centre of his being where they were joined.

But at the same time… he felt like he’d had glimpses of what it would be like to be free. To enjoy time with Hawke; to get to know a Fenris who cared about him, didn’t revile him; to simply spend time caring for himself. And in so doing he realised that he didn’t feel free in his joining to Justice. He had sacrificed his own freedom to fight for that of other mages.

It had seemed worth it, when he’d thought the carefree part of his life was over, but…

“We were managing,” Fenris said, softly. “It wasn’t so bad, spending a day at your clinic. And now that Danarius is gone, it would be safe.”

“What’s the idea?” said Hawke.

Fenris broke eye contact with Anders and turned to Hawke.

“He is drawn to lyrium, is he not?” Fenris asked.

Anders nodded. “Yes.”

“Then I can simply activate the markings while you are close. At the very least it should capture his attention.”

Disquiet echoed through him, making him shiver. “By provoking feelings of desire in him,” Anders said. “It’s not a good idea. I – I know you think of me as an abomination, but I’m not. If Justice becomes a…” he stumbled over the words, even talking about it was making the spirit inside him stir, making Justice’s fears his own. “A desire demon,” he made himself say. “If that happens, then I really will become an abomination. And it won’t be like desire demons in the Fade – all nakedness and nipple-piercings – abominations are hideous, they… well, it would ruin these nice new clothes,” he tried to joke.

Hawke took Anders’ hand and Anders looked into worried eyes.

“Maybe this isn’t the best idea, Fenris,” Hawke began, but Fenris cut across him.

“I know you’re not an abomination,” Fenris said, surprising him. “I have been reading about spirits and demons. I… understand now. I was wrong,” the elf said, stiffly. “I’m sorry.”

Fenris avoided his eye, but there was honesty in his face. “Well,” he said, “thank you. It’s still a bad idea.”

Fenris pursed his lips. “What’s bad is you wallowing in the emotions of a creature who doesn’t understand them. You said that you feel his disgust, but you cannot temper it. He has shared your emotions for years, has he not? Your anger, your fears. When you nearly killed that girl, it was because he acted on emotions he didn’t understand, was it not? And Hawke stopped him by talking to _you_ did he not?”

Anders closed his eyes at the mention of Ella, the mage he had nearly killed. Hawke squeezed his hand. Guilt from then mixed in with Justice’s guilt now. It bled into him. The spirit hated himself for what he had used Anders’ body to do under Danarius’s command. And, falling down into the place where they were joined, Anders hated himself, too.

He jumped when Fenris’s hand touched his, the lyrium lying under a thin layer of skin enough to spike through into the well of pain he had been drowning in, even inert and dull.

He opened his eyes and met Fenris’s gaze.

“You need to take control again,” Fenris said. “Take these emotions away from him.”

Anders laughed. “I was never very good at managing my own emotions. Justice actually… Justice helped a great deal with that. I don’t know that it would work the other way around.”

Fenris sat back, letting go of his hand. “It has to,” he said, bluntly.

***

It had been more difficult than Fenris had expected to persuade the mage to bring Justice to the surface again. He had thought, from everything the man had said before, that Anders missed his mental companion badly. The irony of being the one persuading him to call the spirit out of hiding was not lost on Fenris.

But eventually, Anders had agreed. At Hawke’s insistence, they had moved from the library to the bedroom he and Anders shared. Based on previous experience, there was a fair chance this experiment would end in antics Bodahn and Sandal did not need to see.

Now Fenris stood before Anders, beautiful and nervous in his new clothes and freshly shaven face.

He raised a hand to cup the mage’s cheek, brushing the delicate gold earring in passing.

“Are you ready?” he asked, feeling a thrill of nerves himself at what unknown response might be to come.

Anders laughed. “No. But that doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Fenris rolled his eyes. Whatever feelings had started to grow between them, it seemed the mage was still insufferable. “Do you _consent_ to this, mage? I won’t do it if you’re not sure.”

Anders closed his eyes, swallowed, then nodded. “Do it.”

Fenris activated his brands, releasing the energy that always lay just beneath his skin, feeling the burn on every line carved into his body.

Light spilled out from him, and he felt the connection at the points where they touched. The lines down his fingers and his palm.

Anders gasped, and Fenris searched his face for the tell-tale cracks that would be Justice coming to the surface.

At first there were none. Anders closed his eyes, frowning, and Fenris could sense that the mage was trying to hold back – or maybe Justice was – but then everything changed.

Anders’ eyelids flew open, but what lay underneath was not Anders’ eyes, but blue energy, the raw power of the spirit bursting through his host’s body. And there, there were the cracks in Anders’ skin. Through his cheeks and down his neck.

Several cut across the lines of lyrium in his hand, and he gasped to feel the power coursing back and forth between them.

“ _Stop this_ ,” Justice’s voice doubling with Anders. “ _This is not wise. I am hurting him_.”

“By hiding from him, yes,” Fenris said.

“ _You are the elf that sings_ ,” no pupils were visible in Justice’s gaze, but in his frown and the angle of his head, Fenris felt his regard tracing the lines of lyrium visible on his face and neck. “ _I have hurt you also_.”

“Danarius hurt me,” Fenris said. He could not bring himself to defend the spirit or its joining with Anders, but he could see blame correctly apportioned. And there could never be too much laid at his former master’s feet. “As he hurt Anders when he bound you to his will.”

Fenris raised his other hand so he gripped the mage’s head from both sides. Justice moaned at the contact, sending a shudder of both pleasure and revulsion through Fenris. “ _Look through his memories of the past day, spirit_ ,” he hissed. “See what you have done with your cowardice and your disgust. You cannot abandon him like that.”

The spirit frowned with Anders’ face, but then closed his eyes and looked inward.

A hand gripped hard on Fenris’s shoulder and blue eyes of light flew open once more. “ _No, it cannot be_.”

“Why? Because it was not what you wanted? Because it was not in you plan for him to to fight for your cause single-handed?” Fenris spat. “I called to you spirit! I called to you to stop him and you had so little concern for your host that you didn’t even hear.”

“ _No_ ,” Justice cried. “ _No, it cannot be. Anders would not do such a thing_.”

Fenris had not noticed Hawke drawing close until Anders’ head was yanked from his hands by the hair.

“ _But he did_ ,” Hawke said through gritted teeth, rage written on his reddened face as he looked into the eyes of the thing that rode his lover. “And he had the gall to tell me I should not have expected to keep him. Because you have made him believe he has no future. You _bastard._ ” Hawke shook Anders’ head. “I’ve __defended_ _ you, you prick, and you made him think like this.”

Justice gazed at Hawke, grief written on his face. “ _I am sorry, Hawke. You have been a good friend. Better than I deserve. This joining has not been… it has not been what either of us expected_.”

“Don’t do that!” Hawke said. “Don’t talk to me using his words!”

“ _They are_ our _words, Hawke_ ,” Justice said, with a strange kind of gentleness. “ _We have not been as separate as we are now for a very long time_.”

Hawke gave a strangled cry and released man and spirit both, turning away.

Fenris turned Anders’ head to face him, and for the briefest moment the spirit leant into the touch, before realising what he was doing and pulling back.

“Do you understand now why you cannot pull away from him like that?” Fenris said. “Not right now.”

Anders’ brow was drawn with deep lines again as the spirit frowned. “ _I… will try._ ” Anders’ hand reached up and stroked his face, the cracks of raw fade power making every point of contact impossibly sensitive. Where the hand passed over the lyrium in his skin the sensation went straight to his cock. “ _We are aware_ ,” Justice said, “ _we have been using you._ ” Anders’ face was close to his now, but with Justice barely contained beneath, it looked more like a mask than the face of a lover.

“As long as _Anders_ is in control,” Fenris said, the aching erection of his traitorous cock making his voice breathy, “I don’t mind.”

The spirit nodded, and then closed its eyes. When they opened again, the blue light was gone, and Anders’ honey-brown gaze looked out.

He pulled Fenris closer, until their noses were touching. “Do you mean it?”

“Yes,” Fenris nodded. And then Anders’ mouth was on his, lips closing, then parting to allow a tongue to chase Fenris’s gasp. The touch between them was electric, and Fenris pulled the mage to him, the hard length of Anders' erection brushing against his own.

Anders pulled back, panting. “Hawke,” he said, looking away for his lover, holding out a hand. “I’m so sorry,” he said.

Hawke strode forward and pulled Anders into an embrace, his body hard and warm against Fenris, too. “You stupid fuck,” he whispered, but there was affection in his voice.

“Sorry,” Anders breathed into Hawke’s neck, clutching on to both of them now.

“Don’t apologise,” said Hawke, “Just don’t leave me, OK?”

Anders laughed. “I’ll try.” Then his lips closed on Hawke’s and a hand reached up into Fenris’s hair to pull him close, too.

He broke from Hawke and pressed his lips firmly to Fenris’s once more, but the kiss ended quickly as Anders laughed. “This isn’t so bad.” He ran his hands up through both of their hair, the pleasing tingle making Fenris groan. “Kiss each other,” he breathed.

In his surprised joy, the mage must not have noticed that he had given an order. It was strange to turn to Hawke, for whom he had had so many sleepless nights, and lean into his kiss, not just with Anders’ blessing, but under his compulsion.

Hawke seemed caught by surprise, but after a moment, he responded, his mouth parting and sucking hot and wet on Fenris’s bottom lip.

When he felt a third set of lips join them, Fenris groaned, his cock twitching. It might not have been the neatest affair, but to find himself kissing them both at once was heady.

At last, he pulled back, panting. “Anders,” he said. “You must remember… mabari.”

Anders’ lust-hooded eyes widened. “Oh – no, Fenris, I’m sorry!” He tried to pull back, but Fenris held him close.

“It’s fine,” he said. “I liked it. But we should agree beforehand if you want to give me orders like that.”

“I don’t,” Anders reassured him. “I don’t.”

“I should have realised,” said Hawke. “I’ll tell him, if it happens again, I was just… caught off guard.”

Anders still looked concerned, so Fenris pulled him down for a kiss, reaching round behind him and squeezing the mage’s arse. “I want this,” he said, his head pulling back, but his hand still on Anders’ firm, round flesh. With his other hand, he pulled Hawke to him. “I want both of you.”

 _I still think of you, Hawke_ , he wanted to say, but knew they weren’t there, yet. It was up to the two of _them_ whether this might become something more. Instead, he pulled Hawke’s lips to his again and allowed himself to enjoy memories that had for too long only given pain.

For now, it was enough to be together.


	41. Isabela and Anders have a chat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders is feeling the pull of the enchantment again when Isabela arrives for her promised visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have 95 subscribers now O_O Thank you and all the bookmarkers and everybody else who reads so much. Sorry to leave so long between updates.
> 
> Just a little chapter to move things along, with the tiniest smattering of smut.

By the time Isabela arrived Anders had decamped to the library. He was trying to write a letter to a contact in the mage underground – an apology for his recent absence and request for an update. But it was… difficult to concentrate.

Fenris sat nearby, reading a book and absentmindedly petting the mabari. Dogger still would not come close to Anders, but he could tolerate being in the same room.

He felt Fenris’s presence as though his body were millimetres away, instead of on the other side of the room.

Fenris murmured something to the dog, and Anders felt the deep rumble of his voice like fingers on a string instrument strummed deep within him.

He breathed in sharply, and couldn’t resist a glance over at the elf.

Fenris met his eyes, and Anders looked away. Together with Justice, he tried to collect himself. The spirit did not want to push Anders to distraction as he had before, and neither of them want to make Fenris feel _used_ , _commanded_.

The sensation of heat moved closer, and Anders’ skin prickled as he heard the slight brush of Fenris’s feet upon the carpet.

Fenris laid a hand on his neck, and Anders couldn’t help leaning back into the touch.

“I am distracting you?” he said, bending down so that his low voice ghosted past Anders’ ear.

“A little,” Anders admitted.

Fenris’s fingers trailed up into his hair. “I could be more of a distraction, if you want.”

Yes, he definitely did want. His cock stirred at Fenris’s attentions, and he leant his head back so that he could look into the elf’s eyes. Fenris’s face was always so serious, but Anders could detect the smallest crinkle around the eyes that suggested humour, and perhaps a sense of challenge.

“You don’t have to do that,” Anders said.

Fenris leaned down over him, one hand now resting on the table. The looming presence emphasised the sense of power compressed into Fenris’s slender frame, and was definitely erotic. “But I want to,” Fenris said, his voice, so close, doing terrible things to Anders’ body.

When Fenris bent in to kiss him, Anders met his lips, hungrily reaching his tongue in to meet Fenris’s, feeling the connection between them as electric, compelling. He reached fingers up into Fenris’s hair, and-

Bodahn cleared his throat. “Messeres,” he said.

Anders and Fenris instantly broke apart, Fenris hurriedly straightening his hair in a way Anders found surprisingly endearing. The elf always seemed so effortlessly put-together that it was pleasing to see a glimpse under the surface at what Fenris did to maintain his appearance.

“Serrah Isabela is here to see Messere Anders,” Bodahn finished.

“Of course,” Fenris said, reaching a finger under the mabari’s collar to persuade him to his feet. “It is time for me to take Dogger for a walk, anyway.” The dog’s confusion evaporated at the mention of his favourite activity. He barked happily and allowed himself to be led away past a smirking Isabela, who waited at the foot of the stares.

Anders crossed to the banister to meet her, smiling sheepishly.

“Well, well,” she said. “What did I walk in on?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Anders said, rubbing the back of his neck.

She smiled and reached up to feel his smooth cheek as she approached. “Look at you. So fresh and shiny. Cleanliness suits you.”

He coughed. “I understand you had a hand in that.”

She shrugged. “Fenris was looking at some Circle mage ridiculousness at Robes by Jean Luc – I had to save you.”

Anders grinned. “Then I’m doubly grateful.”

Isabela tilted her head, and he saw the crack in her good-humoured façade. “Are you OK? Fenris said-”

“Fenris has a big mouth,” Anders cut her off, turning away.

“No, not really,” she replied. She put a hand on his shoulder and turned him back. “Come here.” She enveloped him in an embrace, her voluptuous chest pressed against his and her arms wrapped about him. “Why would you do something like that?”

He sagged a little against her. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

She punched his shoulder. “Not funny. Try again.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said, awkwardly. “I feel like all I’ve done today is explain to people about that, and…” he swallowed, “It’s very tiring. I guess… I guess I just didn’t feel like there was any me left to keep on going. I… Please don’t make me talk about this again, OK? You can ask Fenris, if you like. Or Hawke. Tell them you have my blessing, or whatever.”

She leant back from him and took his cheeks in her hands, looking deeply into his eyes. “Just tell me you won’t do it again.”

He closed his eyes. “Tell me you understand that it’s not that simple.”

He found himself pulled down into her arms again. “There’s not a lot of my past I carry with me, you stupid oaf. I’m not done with you yet. I leave other people, not the other way around, you hear me?”

He laughed in spite of himself. “I hate to disappoint you, but I think I’m spoken for. Maybe even twice over now.”

She stepped back to look at him, one carefully plucked eyebrow arched. “And _that_ is something we definitely have to talk about. You and Fenris. _Really?_ ”

He flushed. “I wasn’t sure how much of that you saw.”

Both eyebrows rose. “Nothing, you filthy dog. Were you doing it up here? _With the dog watching?_ ”

“No!” he protested. “I mean… not really. I mean, he kissed me, but… Maker.”

She cackled. “Andraste’s nipple-tassels, this is delicious! I just thought Fenris was buying a lot of presents for a man who hated you. But you really…” she waggled her eyebrows again.

Anders looked down. “I guess.”

“And does Hawke know about this?” she asked.

Anders cleared his throat and made his way over to the chair at his desk to sit. “Yeah,” he said at last.

“And you and he are still…?” Isabela asked.

“Yes, Isabela.”

She gaped at him. “Now that’s just greedy.” She sighed dramatically and flung herself into the other chair. “You’ve left me with Sebastian. I do hope you realise that.”

He laughed. “Not Varric?”

She groaned. “Could a woman but get between a dwarf and his crossbow. Don’t think I haven’t tried. Something else is going on there – you mark my words.”

Anders snorted, relieved to find it easy to talk to her again, after all the difficult conversations of the last few days.

“Now,” she said. “What exactly have you all been keeping from me this last week?”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s all extremely embarrassing.”

She laughed. “It better be!”


	42. In which Fenris and Anders are bad at feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris expresses his feelings to Anders, and it doesn't really go how either of them expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's back! It's finally back! Sorry this stalled for so long. It happened for a bunch of reasons. I wrote a draft of this chapter aaaaaaages ago but it was rubbish and had to be completely rewritten. I also felt like I had moved the boys into polygamy too soon because my Hawke just still felt like he'd be really jealous (despite the fact that I'm in charge of him and I want it to happen - sigh). I don't know... it was just easier to write something else for a while.
> 
> This is just a short chapter because I need to go out 20mins ago. ~~Not proofread but will be later!~~ PROOFREAD NOW.
> 
> Please do comment and encourage me. I'd love to know if you're still enjoying the story :)

Hawke was reluctant to let Anders return to his clinic the next day, but with Danarius dead and gone there was no good reason to keep them all cooped up inside.

The morning started gently enough. Fenris and Hawke were somewhat underfoot, clumsy in the clinic where they were elegant and confident in battle. Fenris found a small amount of smugness in being able to occupy himself better, while Hawke required more instruction.

It was surprisingly companionable, although Fenris found himself occasionally torn between affection and jealousy when he saw Anders and Hawke share little touches of intimacy.

Strange to feel the jealousy now, after persuading Hawke to admit him into their company beyond the compulsion the spell, but in admitting that he wanted something more – something lasting – Fenris was aware of how much more the two of them shared. That he was asking to join something they already had, rather than create something new with Anders.

Anders’ easy smile and laughter when their hands accidentally touched. Hawke bending in for a kiss in passing.

It was something very different than the passionate fucking and forced intimacy Fenris had shared with them.

And yet, there had been quieter moments. Lying in bed together, talking while Hawke slept. Anders pulling him aside, here in the clinic and caressing his ears until he had almost come from that touch alone…

There _was_ a connection between them. Something different from what either of them shared with Hawke. But how deeply did it go? Did it run as deeply for Anders as it did for him?

The clinic became steadily busier over the morning, hitting a high at lunch that kept them all occupied. Almost enough for Fenris to ignore the insistent tug that said for him to go to Anders – to touch him, to pull him close, to _be his_. But eventually it slackened off, and Hawke announced that he was going for food.

As Hawke departed and Anders headed towards the back of the clinic to sort his herbs, Fenris saw a moment and followed him.

Coming up behind the mage, Fenris took his hand and drew him behind the partition.

Anders laughed. “Why, hello there, Fenris.”

“Hello,” Fenris replied, pulling him close, feeling Anders’ breath on his cheek. “A few days go… it seems like an age, but you came to me here, in this place, and you-” he ran a finger around the swirl of Anders' ear, then down the line of the mage’s neck to his clavicle. He was gratified to hear the mage’s intake of breath.

“I remember,” Anders whispered.

“Mmmm,” Fenris hummed, placing his whole hand against Anders’ neck and looking into his rich brown eyes. “I should like to return the favour.”

The desire to touch the mage – to be touched by him – was stronger now – heightened by their contact, skin to skin. Still with his palm resting over Anders’ windpipe, he pulled the mage down for a kiss, feeling his pulse thrumming against his hand.

And Anders responded – pressing into him – lips hard against his and hands reaching up into his hair.

When the kiss broke, Fenris removed his hand, taking the mage firmly by his shoulders and pushing his against the back wall. He ran his tongue up the side of Anders’ neck, tasting the salt of his skin, and then ran his teeth back down, leaving red marks and making Anders moan softly.

He kissed the mage’s collar bone in soft little butterfly kisses. This was passion, but also more than that. This was caring. This was admiring every inch of the man and yearning to protect him from the broken places inside of him.

“I love you,” he whispered, before pressing his lips into the crook of the mage’s neck.

Unexpectedly rough hands pushed him back and held him away.

“No,” the mage said. “You don't.”

And just like that, he didn’t. He was still drawn to Anders with the desire of the enchantment that coursed through him, but for the man himself, he felt nothing. The burgeoning affection of the past few days was gone.

A well of resentment and horror replaced it. His very emotions had been undone with just three words - with Anders' command. “Mage,” he said. “Do not tell me how to feel.”

Anders’ eyes opened wide. “I – I didn’t. I didn’t mean. I mean _mabari_. I-“

The mage’s stuttered retraction released him. The blank lack-of-love was gone, but the horror was not.

“Not good enough,” he spat, pushing Anders’ hands away from his shoulders. “You can’t just do this and then take it back as if that makes it OK. Do you not realise? Do you not understand what power it is you have over me? When you tell me what I do and do not feel? You – you overwrite me. You-”

A wave of feeling swept over Fenris, messy and churning – an accumulation of days of strain and fear and bending to someone else’s will. It made him feel sick. It made him want to run, though the spell would have prevented it. His heart beat hard. His voice faltered. “You can’t do this to me, Anders,” he said, his hand trembling as he wiped away a tear and pushed the hair back from his face.

“I’m sorry,” Anders said, holding his hands out, but not touching him. “I’m so sorry. I just – you can’t…” Anders was trembling now, too, and Fenris knew he should push down his own hurt – that Anders was far more fragile than he just now and needed his sympathy, his understanding… but the horror of how his own feelings had simply vanished at the man’s off-hand remark was overwhelming.

Anders swallowed and tried again. “I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t want that,” he said, his voice light and shaky, but determined to speak. “But… _mabari_ , I need you to understand, whatever you’re feeling right now, it’s not love. It can’t be. Love doesn’t appear overnight and… and _I remember what it was like_ ," he said, stepping a little away and rubbing again at his face. "In the days after Randara Amell conscripted me to the wardens and stood her ground and said that the Templars couldn't have me. That I wasn’t going back to the Circle. That I was free… I must have fallen in love half a dozen times..."

He shook his head and looked down. "Or at least I thought I did. Certainly with Randara - I would have done anything for her. And with Nathaniel. With Sigrun. Even Velanna. I…” He spoke with a broken rapidness, as though the words had been held within for a long time, and now flooded out. “I had no idea what it was to love freely. It was forbidden in the Circle. It was a game – find a room and get your pants off and do whatever you can as _quickly_ as you can before you’re caught – and… and suddenly I was free and… and it seemed like no one in the world looked as good as the people who did that. Who fought beside me. Treated me like an equal.”

He sighed, and met Fenris’s eyes. “You’re free now. In one sense. It’s dizzying. And he's been hanging over you all this time… It’ll take a while, Fenris – a long while,” he said. “Before you know how you really feel about anything, as a free man. That’s not an order, that’s just… how it is. And… even though you’re free of him, you’re not free of me. I’m the last person that you-” his voice choked on the words. Anders cleared his throat and tried again. “When the spell is gone… I hope… I hope that you’ll still want to see me. That you won’t hate me the way you used to… or in some new way. But I don’t know. And I don’t think you can, either. So… don’t say things like that to me. Not yet.”

Fenris forced himself to take a deep, steadying breath. “You are the one who asked me to promise you more than this. That there would be something – beyond the spell.”

Anders nodded, brushing a tear from his face. “I know. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

Fenris sighed, suddenly weary of the confusion and the outrage and everything else. “Oh, mage,” he said, pulling Anders into an embrace. “Don’t apologise. I am not going anywhere.”

“I don’t think you can know that,” he whispered in Fenris’s ear.

“Then,” Fenris said, stroking the mage's hair, “You will just have to take me at my word.”


	43. Hawke and Anders have some alone time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders tells Hawke what Fenris said and how he responded. Hawke and Anders reaffirm their love for each other.

It was a long day at the clinic, but a good one. It felt like an eternity since Anders had actually been useful to those around him, and not merely a burden or a danger. Healing the residents of Darktown made him feel a step closer to setting right all the damage that he had done.

And it was something that he and Justice could work in accord on. The spirit remained quieter than usual. An anxious presence in the back of his mind that seethed with guilt and fear and a variety of emotions that were decidedly un-Justice-like. But he had always approved of Anders’ healing the poor, and it had always been something that Anders wanted to do – something he knew he was good at.

But Fenris’s confession of love – or whatever that truly was – had unsettled them both. 

Justice was horrified. This whole experience, and the spirit’s own obsession with Fenris, exemplified his worst fears for any kind of romantic attachment – that it distracted them from their cause, that Justice was unsuited to mortal love and that trying to love in their situation could only end in disaster and pain for everyone involved. Not to mention the certainty they both felt that the elf’s feelings could not really be love, that they sprang from the malignant influence of the spell and that it would be cruel and unjust for Anders to take advantage of his false feelings.

And there had been Anders’ own fears – that having lived his whole life as a slave, Fenris could not really know what it was to love freely, that it would hurt them all in the long run to allow him to believe that he was in love. Especially as the power Anders unwillingly held over Fenris put him in a position uncomfortably similar to that of the man’s former master.

For Fenris’s sake, Anders strove to collect himself and threw himself into the work of healing, but once the hustle and bustle of the day had died down and they had collected their things to go home, disquiet rose again.

Fenris parted from them when they got back. He had hardly changed his clothes in days and wanted to collect some things from the mansion, now the danger of Danarius attacking had passed.

Alone at last, Hawke took Anders by the hand and drew him into the library.

“How are you doing?” he asked, concern weighing heavy in his bright blue eyes.

Anders gave a tired half-smile. “Fine, really,” he said. “It was good to get out. I hate… feeling useless, and I like helping people. The clinic’s always good from that point of view.” He sighed and leant back against a bookcase. “But… well, I suppose there was one weird thing…”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “A weird thing?”

“Yeah,” Anders said, rubbing his neck against the trickle of embarrassment that ran through him. “Fenris told me he loved me,” he admitted.

Hawke blinked. “He…?”

“He said he loved me,” Anders repeated. “I don’t know that he meant to, it just sort of… came out, when we were necking out the back.” He blushed. It was still strange to talk openly to Hawke about getting off with another man.

Hawke’s wide-eyed stare did little to reassure him.

Anders stumbled over his words, trying to explain and make that look go away. “Hawke, I… it’s going to be weird for him. I don’t think… I don’t think he really does. Love me, that is.” He cleared his throat. “Maker - it’s just… he’s been a slave, all his life – that he remembers anyway – and now Danarius is dead. It’d be confusing enough without all the rest. But there’s still the spell and that… weird hold it has – I have – over him. And everything’s been very… intense. The last few days. I can see how he could mistake that for love, but, uh… Then I told him he didn’t love me, and that opened a whole other set of problems, because of course he has to do what I say, and that seems to include feeling how I tell him to feel - or, or, or not feel and…”

“Oh.” Understanding dawned on Hawke’s face.

“Yeah. Oh. So then he definitely didn’t love me, but he was furious with me for telling him how to feel, and I… I took it back. And we talked some more and it’s fine. Really, everything’s fine, Hawke, but like I say, it was… it was weird.” He could feel the inadequacy of the words in his mouth.

Hawke sighed out a long breath. “Is Fenris OK?” he asked.

Anders nodded. “I think so," he said. "He was a bit… rattled – I think we both were – but he’s OK. And I think he understands why I said… what I did.”

“OK,” Hawke said, “And you’re OK?”

Anders laughed. “For a certain measure of ‘OK’.”

That got him a brief smile. Then Hawke surprised him by pulling him into an embrace.

“You’re not mad, are you?” he whispered. “This thing with Fenris – whatever it is – it’s new and strange and… complicated. But…” he pulled back to look Hawke in the eye. “But I can’t have it come between us. You’re too important to me. I need to know that you know that.”

Hawke pulled Anders’ head down and kissed his forehead. “No, Anders,” he said, releasing him. “Of course I’m not mad at you. I can’t really complain that someone else has seen the things I love about you and thinks he’s in love, too.”

Anders ducked his head. “And, uh, what I said to Fenris… me being that careless. I know you want to protect him too and… I should have known better, I…”

Hawke pulled him back into his arms. “Stop it. Stop finding ways to beat yourself up. We all say stupid things sometimes. Fenris… I’ll check in with him later, but if you say you worked it out, I believe you. He’s not shy of saying when something’s wrong.” Hawke squeezed him extra firmly before pulling back again. “I’m not entirely against the thought of you telling someone else they can’t be in love with my man.”

“Hawke,” Anders admonished.

“I know,” he sighed. “I know. I agreed to try… whatever this is, but you have to let me be a little bit jealous, sometimes. This is still very new and… you’ve had a rough time. I want to take care of you.”

Hawke leant forward and kissed him then, and it felt like it had been an age since it had just been the two of them, sharing intimacy like this. Hawke’s lips were so soft, a contrast to the hard muscles Anders could feel beneath his shirt.

Opening his mouth, Anders deepened the kiss, reaching for Hawke’s tongue with his, feeling the familiar thrill that went right to his cock as they connected. He smoothed his hands across Hawk’s strong shoulders, up along his neck, into his hair.

When their lips parted, he was panting.

“I love you,” he said, holding Hawke’s eyes with his.

“I love you, too,” Hawke said, looking back with the openness, honesty, and intensity that had drawn him to the man in the first place.

How had he ever thought he might be able to turn away from Hawke’s love? From someone who could believe in him, so completely? Accept him, despite his many and increasingly strange flaws.

“Whatever happens,” Hawke said. “With Fenris, with Meredith - with whatever this cursed city throws at us next – I will always love you. I need you to know that, Anders.”

It was heady, Hawke’s love, and a little intimidating. Could he promise the same? When he couldn’t put his own needs first, could he do so for Hawke?

He closed his eyes. “Hawke, I… I told you what loving me is. It’s…”

“What? Dangerous?” Lips pressed down on the corner of his mouth. “I can’t remember the last time I did something that wasn’t dangerous. I can’t go out for drinks without being jumped by a street gang. I don’t care if it’s dangerous. I don’t care if there’s more pain down the road. I love you anyway. I’m not asking for the same from you.” That comment smote him. “I know your life isn’t entirely your own. All I ask is that you know that I will never leave you. I will never abandon you. Tell me you believe me when I say that?”

He nodded, still not opening his eyes – overwhelmed by an emotion he could not name. “I do, Hawke,” he managed to say. “I believe you.”

Hawke kissed him again – closed-mouthed, but no less intense. “Then that’s enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter didn't quite go where I expected it to, but I think it went where it needed to.


End file.
